Orion
by Middy Miles
Summary: Deryn and Alek are now part of the Zoological Society so...what happens next? WWI is ending, but it's not over yet; so that means their story isn't over. Follow them in Orion, my version of a fourth installment in the LBG trilogy. Now complete aside from revision, but be watching for the sequel, Medusa, coming soon!
1. Chapter 1

Of the twenty chairs lining the table that took up a full room in the hotel, only three were occupied. It was strange, Deryn thought, how the emptiness was almost oppressive.

Usually the lady boffin had the dining room swarming with other boffins, agents, and wealthy men interested in donating to the Society, but tonight it was only Alek, Dr. Barlow, and herself. The lady boffin's husband, Alan, and the wildcount were out of the country on business. A pity, as Deryn found Alan to be quite amusing and always ready for a laugh. He had a habit of collecting pottery, and she found the history behind each piece to be fascinating.

"Well, boys," Dr. Barlow began, looking each of them in the eye. "Since it is just us tonight, why not practice languages?" she continued in German. Deryn frowned, knowing if she weren't here that they could be speaking in six or so other languages. She'd picked up the basics in Istanbul, but hadn't spoken in her second language since leaving the Leviathan.

Alek smirked and said something Deryn didn't try to decipher. She was already lost in the memory of her last footsteps on the airship. Newkirk may have been the saddest to see her go.

"Do me a favor and don't get yourself killed while I'm gone. I won't be here to save you anymore," she'd reminded him.

He didn't respond for a moment, just gave her a mournful look. "I hate to be a softie, Dylan, but I'll miss having you around. We'll be getting new middies soon, you know, and I don't think they'll be half as good as you."

Deryn had frowned at the sentiment. The boy wasn't one to dish out compliments easily. "Aye, I suppose not. But between you and Rigby, I'm sure you'll keep them in line. Think of it, Newkirk; you'll be head middy!"

"Sure," he sighed, offering a halfhearted smile. "But, hey, don't you get yourself killed, either. Those boffins can be pretty tricky."

"Don't I know it," she agreed, shaking her head. "Here." Deryn pulled off her thick leather airman's gloves and pressed them into the boy's hands. "I won't be needing them anymore, and they're the best on the ship."

His face had lit up into a momentary smile, and with a shake of the boy's hand, she'd left.

Someone snapped their fingers in front of Deryn's face. "Dylan?"

Alek's voice broke through her daydream, startling her. She pushed away his hand. "Blisters, Alek. Isn't that rude?"

Her prince shrugged his shoulders and dug his spoon into his soup. "Probably. But not as rude as cursing at the table."

She shot him a glare and jokingly held up her fists. "I beg to differ-"

The lady boffin cleared her throat. "Boys," she said sternly, then sighed. "Please, restrain yourselves. We are almost finished with dinner."

"Aye, ma'am," said Deryn, properly abashed.

"Yes, ma'am," Alek echoed, suddenly finding the tablecloth very interesting. "Ooh!" He snatched up a newspaper strewn over the top, shaking off the loris that had been napping on them with an angry spattering of nonsensical words.

"Quiet, Bovril," he ordered, petting the wee beastie between the ears. It immediately began to coo at him, and crawled up to find a comfortable position on his neck.

Deryn watched sidelong as he sifted through the numerous pages, straightening and arranging them as he went. After a minute or so, he froze, eyes locked worriedly at one spot in the paper. "That's worrying," was all he said.

She leaned over his shoulder, surprised and slightly confused. "What're you looking at?" she asked, chewing on a bagel a little more noisily than Dr. Barlow would approve of, earning her a disapproving glare which she chose to ignore.

The boy pointed mutely at one of the headlines: "British Airship Burns Over Sea"

Deryn caught her breath and hurriedly began reading through the article, eyes searching frantically for the ship's name. Surely it couldn't have been-

The Danava?

Letting out a guilty breath of relief, she read the rest of the article more slowly. In short, the piece, written by the bum rag Eddie Malone, said that early Tuesday morning, the Danava caught fire off the eastern American coast, exploding within sight of water and worried onlookers from shore. The cause of the fire was still being investigated, but Malone wasn't subtle in hinting that it couldn't have been a coincidence that a German zeppelin was lurking in the area. Reports from the few survivors stated that all the beasties had gone mad right before the fires started, and there were radio disturbances around that time.

Alek tapped the paper with the back of his hand once they'd finished reading. "Did you see this?" he asked Dr. Barlow, concern etched in lines across his face.

"About the Danava? Yes, I read it this morning. In fact, it was my next topic of conversation." The lady boffin stirred her tea and nodded sadly. "It is terrible thing to have happened, and naturally the Zoological Society will look into it promptly."

"Aye. Well, then," Deryn said, for once at a loss for many words. "Barking terrible."

They ate in relative silence after that, Alek having set down the paper in not being able to stomach any more events. He mostly picked at his food after that, and Deryn assumed he'd lost his appetite, too. She frowned and took another bite. No sense in wasting good food.

When they were finally dismissed from the meal, Deryn stood abruptly and made her way out of the dining hall, up the stairs toward her room. Bovril hopped off the table and scurried after her.

Alek caught her halfway there, catching her hand. She looked around worriedly, making sure a passerby hadn't seen the motion, and detached herself from his grasp. He stared down at his hand like a wounded puppy for a moment, then turned his eyes to her.

"What were you thinking about in there?" he asked, hiking a thumb back toward the dining room. "I know you were daydreaming."

Deryn furrowed her brow in thought, letting Bovril climb up her arm to settle on her shoulder. "Oh, before that story about the airship? Same thing I always dream about; the Leviathan. But Alek, what if it had been..." she trailed off, not wanting to continue.

"I know," was his only reply.

"It's just..." Deryn stopped herself, pushing down all the "what if"s that bubbled up in her throat, and started again. "That's enough of that. Let's go on an adventure."

The two of them walked the rest of the way to their rooms, and Deryn slung her dinner jacket and Bovril off and plucked a wool coat off the back of her door. Alek did the same, but took a bit more care in folding his jacket and placing it on his bed, so she waited for him in the hall for a few seconds.

He came out of the door and into the narrow hallway so quickly he nearly ran into her, but caught himself so that their faces were bare inches apart. Their gazes held for a moment, electricity buzzing in the air between. Deryn cleared her throat, looking away. "Right, then. Off we go."

"Of course," he agreed, though he sounded a bit disappointed.

"We need to go back into your room," Deryn said patiently, with a hint of a wry smile.

His mouth made a small "o" and he turned around, leading the way through his bedroom and onto the balcony. The brisk winter air hit Deryn's face with startling force.

"That's more like it," she breathed, watching the spirals of fog on her words.

Without hesitation, she stepped up onto the railing, all of two inches wide. A quick glance at Alek, who held onto her legs so she wouldn't fall, and she reached up her arms, feeling with her fingers for the ledge of the balcony above.

When she found it, she hoisted herself up out of Alek's grasp and swung a leg onto the balcony above, climbing over the railing. Her boots hit the cold stone with a thump and she immediately swung a hand down to help Alek up.

By the time they were both on the balcony, they were breathing hard. "One more, your princeliness," Deryn said encouragingly, and scrambled up onto the roof, a bit more difficult of a feat, but still entirely manageable given time.

Alek followed, and they lay next to each other for a minute, breath coming in ragged gasps and interspersed with jittery chuckles.

"Well, that was fun!" the boy laughed.

"Aye, and about time. I was going stir crazy, cooped up like a chicken in a blizzard," mused Deryn, standing and brushing off her knees. There was a bit of soreness in the leg she'd injured in Mexico, but she convinced herself it was fading. Looking up, she whistled. "Look at the view!"

The suburbs of London stretched out below them, the people and beasties bustling about in the streets like dolls. Worm lamps lit the street corners, and with little help from the setting sun, the landscape had an eerie glow.

"Are you thinking about drawing it?" Alek asked.

The tips of Deryn's mouth drew into a smile. "How'd you guess? If you can't find me tomorrow, this is where I'll be."

Alek nodded, supplying a "good to know" as they turned around toward their intended path of travel. He grit his teeth and narrowed his eyes. "This is the part I don't like."

Deryn let out a breath, now also staring at the five foot gap between the hotel roof and that of the next building. It was also half a story down, but Deryn chose not to dwell on that.

"It's not that bad," she assured him, looking slyly at his widened eyes. She took a few steps back. "As long as you get a running start."

She took off, her feet crunching on the roof in three long steps, and then there was open space beneath her for a few blissful seconds. Too soon, her boots connected solidly with another roof, and she took several steps to steady herself. "Come on, bum rag!" she called to Alek, who shot her a withering look before making the jump.

He barely made it, teetering backward for a split second, but Deryn grabbed his shirtfront and pulled him all the way onto the roof. The urge to pull him close was almost overwhelming, but she resisted.

"Glad you could make it." Deryn smiled broadly, making sure Alek knew she was joking.

"Right," he said, "Why couldn't we take the streets again?"

She shrugged. "This is more fun. And anyway, what would the townspeople think if two-" Deryn paused to make air quotes "-boys were strolling together about the streets of London?"

Something like disappointment flashed across his face. "Two perfectly fine friends out for a night on the town?" he offered, lifting his shoulders.

"Please," Deryn chided, readying herself for the next jump, "Everyone loves a good scandal around here. It makes for wonderful gossip!"

She leaped onto the next roof, a mere hop compared to the last. The buildings in London were crowded together like a box full of kittens, so they would make good time.

Alek's boots hit the roof next to her. "Yes, but how many pairs of boys do you suppose wander the streets in the evenings? I suspect there are many, and another would hardly raise an eyebrow."

They jumped the next gap together.

"And, really, which is more suspicious? Two more teenagers on the streets or a few apparent vagabonds roof-jumping?" he continued, and Deryn had to admit the boy made a fair point.

"So I guess that either way we're fueling the gossip machine," she observed brightly. "And of the two options, this is still more fun."

Alek blinked, making the deep light catch in his eyelashes. "And that is still your opinion."

She let out a blissful laugh, tilting her head back and pausing mid-stride. "That it is, your princeliness." As she was about to begin again, Alek put out an arm across her middle, stopping her.

"We seem to have run out of buildings," he said, pointing at the lack of a roof past the one they were on. Ahead of them was an expanse of green grass, spattered at the edges with tall, wild oak trees. Deryn nodded approvingly, noting that the park was nearly empty, and the few people that still littered the benches looked almost ready to leave; their coats were pulled tightly around their bodies, and they were doing a lot of shifting about. They may have looked cold, but this was nothing compared to a Glasgow winter.

"Aye, which means we've arrived at our destination," explained Deryn, surveying their surroundings for an appropriate method of getting off the roof. Her eyes lit on a lamppost a few feet from the edge of the building, and she nodded approvingly. "So come along."

She could feel his lighthearted glare on her back, but chose to ignore it as she launched herself at the lamppost. Briefly, her fingers scrabbled for a purchase on the cold metal, and the impact had taken her breath and made her go starry-eyed. She slid down easily after that, her feet connecting with the packed dirt firmly. Grinning, Deryn faced Alek ten feet above her, eyebrows wide and a bit afraid.

He took a few deep breaths, apparently steeling himself, and did just as she had, if a bit more gracelessly. When he'd regained his air and footing, Deryn fixed him with a beaming smile.

"Brilliant."

"So what happens next?" Alek asked. "Do we stroll about the park like two perfectly good friends?"

Paying no attention to the jab, Deryn answered innocently, "Now we go back up."

Alek's shoulders fell, and he took on a look of absolute disbelief. "Wait, seriously? You've got to be joking."

She poked him in the chest and pointed to the tallest tree in the park that had branches low enough to reach, standing about a hundred yards away. "Up that, daftie. Come on, I'll race you," she challenged him, and his incredulity quickly disappeared, turning into a competitive grin.

She broke into a dead sprint, her long legs carrying her over the grass with exhilarating speed. Slowing to a stop just soon enough not to plow headlong into the trunk, Deryn heard Alek behind her, panting just as hard as she was.

"I need a warning next time, Dummkopf," he said between gulps of air, smiling. "Totally, completely, unfair."

"Aye, I'll remember that." She grabbed the first branch and swung herself up, Alek in quick pursuit. Soon the two of them were swarming up the tree like ratlines, the limbs swaying under their weight.

Deryn lunged for a branch, but when her hand reached for it, it met only empty space, and suddenly she was plummeting toward the ground perilously far below. With grim realization, she recognized that Alek must have taken hold of the branch just before she'd reached it.

She gasped, and just as her arm caught on a limb, she felt a sharp tug on her leg. It swung her around, bringing her dangerously close to a head bashing. Her mouth moved, trying to curse, but she was stunned speechless.

"Deryn!" Alek's panicked voice came from above her. "Did-did you hit anything? Are you okay?" He paused briefly to let out a curse. "Did I catch the wrong leg?" He took hold of her other leg to relieve the strain on the one, just in case.

She chuckled shakily, strangely amused by his concern. "I'm fine, thank you," she assured him. After a moment of hanging upside down, Deryn used her arms to 'walk' up the branches until her head was above level with her legs. Alek eased her ankles loose from his grip, and they settled on a sturdy limb. Deryn turned to face him, knowing her face would be sheet white if blood hadn't rushed to it during her time being inverted.

"Well, then. That was exciting," she said uncertainly, offering a half smile.

The boy still looked terribly frightened, and he was studying her closely. "Are you sure you're alright? I'm so sorry. I didn't-you could have been-what if you'd fallen?"

Deryn bit her lip and nodded. "It would have hurt." She looked at the spaces between branches all the way to the solid ground below. "Probably would have broken a few bones, if not on the dirt then at least on the way down."

"Did you get knocked in the head?" Alek asked, still being terribly fearful. Deryn squeezed her eyes shut, taking a deep breath, and was about to assure him she was fine when she felt a sharp pressure on her mouth. Her eyes shot open, and Alek's face was bare inches from hers, eyes twinkling.

"It worked when you did it." He shrugged, smiling slightly now.

"You just wanted an excuse to do this," she argued, returning his kiss with delight.

He pulled back slightly, whispering, "That's complete nonsense. I simply saw the opportunity and took advantage of it."

"We aren't to the top of the tree yet." Deryn raised an eyebrow.

He cast a tired look above them. "Indeed we aren't. Shall we?"

They climbed more slowly after that, feeling no rush. The top branches sagged under their weight, and Deryn could see the worry on Alek's face mixed with awe.

"I like this view better than the hotel," he mused, and Deryn had to agree.

"Aye. But it's harder to get here, too, so they balance each other out."

One side of the boy's mouth quirked up. "Just like us."

"Are you getting all sentimental on me?" Deryn inquired, raising her eyebrows.

"Yes, so either deal with it or kiss me again," he demanded, and for Deryn the choice wasn't hard at all.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Hello, all! I bring you the revised version of chapter two, for the good of the world and for your reading pleasure. Seriously, I reread this before rewriting it, and it was pretty bad. So... read it because it's better now. :)

Alek smoothed his hair and sat down, resting for a few precious minutes between chores and meetings.

He sighed, long and low, and shook his head. God's wounds, that girl. Deryn Sharp, who for the first half of their knowing each other lied to him about who she was–still a sore wound–couldn't help but do something dangerous. And although he'd come to accept this as the inevitable, that didn't mean he had to like it. If she'd gotten herself killed last night...

Alek shook the thought from his head. Thinking such things held no purpose.

His head rose at the sound of a knock on the door. "Come in," he beckoned.

"Dr. Barlow summons you, sir," a member of the hotel staff informed him, standing in the doorway with a ramrod straight back. Though most of the time, they showed no hint of personality, this man smiled slightly as he added, "And she insists you have haste."

Alek swallowed hard. That was never a good sign.

"I shall join her presently, thank you."

The servant nodded and left, leaving the door open for him. Sighing, Alek stood and made the short trek down the hall to Dr. Barlow's room–or, rather, the sitting room in her suite. He knocked and waited patiently, studying the carpet. In comparison to that of the Ottoman Empire, it was rather tame.

Deryn stepped aside so he could enter when she opened the door, and he heard it click closed behind him. He found a chair and sat in it, wondering at the fact that just the lady boffin's sitting room was bigger than Deryn's or his. Admittedly, she usually shared it with her husband Alan, but in the meantime it seemed like a large amount of space for just one woman.

He drew in a breath, sitting straighter as he remembered that his set of rooms in his parent's castle more than doubled this.

"Well, then," Dr. Barlow said, jolting Alek out of his thoughts. "Now that the two of you are here, we may begin."

Alek blinked. "Not the wildcount?"

The lady boffin paused, meeting his gaze. "No, Count Volger has already been briefed on the situation."

"The situation?" asked Deryn, nervously brushing a hair that didn't exist behind her ear. Since they'd left the Leviathan, she'd relapsed into some of her old habits. "Blisters."

That caught her a glare from Dr. Barlow, who then cleared her throat and continued as though she hadn't been interrupted. "For your first covert operation within the Society, the two of you will have very different but crucial roles. Deryn, I trust you recall the terms of your employment?"

Deryn coughed. "Pardon me, ma'am, but–what?"

"When I hired you, we discussed the possibility of your going undercover."

"Aye, that." She shrugged. "I remember now."

The lady boffin examined her brightly painted fingernails for a moment. "Seeing as you are so adept at the art of becoming someone entirely different from yourself, I assume you could easily take on an identity much more similar to your own."

With calculated indifference, Deryn nodded. Alek could tell that she understood something he didn't just from the way she held herself so still. "Aye, ma'am."

"Ten days from now, you will accompany me to a gala at the Grand Hotel as my niece visiting from Manchester. In the meantime, I will personally reeducate you in etiquette."

Alek bit his tongue, holding back something between laughter and horror at the revelation. The idea of Deryn acting like a girl–it was simply unfathomable. He found it a good moment to study a nearby lampshade rather than look at her.

"Aleksandar, as your face is too well known among those attending the gala, your role is more secretive. While all of the guests are at dinner, myself and Deryn included, I will arrange for a back entrance to remain unlocked for your use. Your job is to search the rooms of several of the guests."

He nodded his understanding. "Ma'am, what exactly am I to look for?"

"Until the evening arrives, that is classified information."

Opening his mouth to speak, Alek met her gaze. The lady boffin held up a hand to stop him. "That decision was not up to me, Aleksandar, so our discussion is over. Right now, the two of you should dress for dinner. The president of Oxford college is with us tonight, so be on your best behavior, boys," she said, dismissing them.

Deryn sighed and stood, knowing just as Alek did that there was no use in arguing with Barlow. He followed her out the door and down the hall.

They stopped at her door. "So..." Alek began.

"Don't even start," commanded Deryn, turning to face him so he could see her face. On it, fear and anger mingled as though they knew each other well. Her hands curled into fists, and Alek took several steps back, holding up his arms in surrender.

"Only punch me if you really need to," he said, squeezing his eyes shut.

The impact never came, and he opened his eyes to nothing but a face wipe clean of anything but utter fear. "What? No. I–I won't. Wouldn't. I'm not even mad at you."

Alek nodded. "I figured as much."

"It's Dr. Barlow. I mean–I should have seen this coming, but I didn't. I don't know what I expected, but it wasn't this." She stormed into her room, leaving him in the hallway to decide whether or not to follow her.

He closed the door behind himself, knowing that no one would be able to hear their conversation. "Deryn."

"It's just–Alek, the last time I had to act like a girl was before the Leviathan, and I hated it. It's why I became Dylan. And now that I have to return to that..." she broke off, voice having raised in pitch. Her control was breaking. "It terrifies me."

Alek pulled her into a hug, letting her rest her head on his shoulder. It was a bit awkward, because she was still a few centimeters taller than he was, but he didn't really care. "I believe in you, Deryn. You can do this."

She laughed humorlessly, muttering into his shirt, "And how hard can it be, really? I was a girl for most of my life, after all."

"An amusing mental picture."

"Not helping, daftie." Deryn squeezed him tighter.

Alek breathed into her hair, watching it flutter. "You know what I mean. You just fit so perfectly, exactly how you are."


	3. Chapter 3

**_A/N: Hello there! So this is the re-written version of chapter 3! Just so you know, I'm changing Deryn's cover name from "Dalia" to "Delia" because–duh–Delia is a name and Dalia isn't. So it will say Delia in this chapter and Dalia in the ones after it until I get those re-written, too. Just a heads up. Enjoy!_**

At this point, Deryn thought, it didn't make any difference what she was wearing; her stupid prince couldn't be enjoying it more. She kept catching him staring at her, jaw slightly open and entirely infuriating. Even without his constant looks, she felt awkward and on edge.

Her fingers played absently with the hem of her dress, tugging at the layers of lace on the skirt as if she could tear it off and find trousers underneath. And the bodice was form-fitting–painfully so; it had been hours since Deryn had been able to get in a full breath.

"Do either of you have questions about your roles this evening?" Dr. Barlow asked, pinning the last curl on Deryn's wig into place.

"No," Deryn said as she watched the lady boffin pick up a small hat that matched her dress–pale purple in color, all frills and bows. She felt it wouldn't be out of place to twirl a parasol around in the dress, though she wouldn't be caught dead doing so.

Alek shook his head. "I know what to do."

"Then you are dismissed, Aleksandar. You'll find the carriage waiting in the drive. Our driver will finish with his dinner within minutes, so haste should be observed on your part," Dr. Barlow instructed him, and he turned on his heel with a nod and departed. For secrecy's sake, neither of them had been informed completely of the other's task. If something were to go wrong for one of them, the other would be safe.

Once he had left, Dr. Barlow rounded Deryn's chair so they faced each other. "There is one final thing you must know. I have already informed you of Count Abbot Welker, but left out a significant detail. He has a son, and his name is Thaddeus."

Deryn let our her breath in a hiss. "That was _not _part of the bark–part of the deal." Even though her blood was heating and rushing to her head, she managed not to curse. Dr. Barlow's lessons had made sure of that–she was a right proper lady now. At least on the outside.

"Then you understand the implications of the information. I have no doubt the boy is privy to most of the Count's plans–if, in fact, there are any–and, being his age, you are the most likely to be able to pry the information out of him."

Deryn broke the lady boffin's gaze and muttered, "That would be simple enough with a good knife."

"In an inconspicuous manner, of course," Dr. Barlow amended with a stern glare. "I know this is not what you expected of your employment, but I assure you that I have often felt the same way. One gets used to it after a time. Let us depart." She stood abruptly, not giving Deryn time to answer. Obediently, she followed the lady boffin out to the topless carriage, which was in the drive, just as she had told Alek.

Deryn wondered why that was important to him. He wasn't riding with them to the event.

It was almost too chilly out to ride in a carriage without a cover, but not enough that they'd bothered to make the driver put one on. After all, it was only a mile or two to the Grand Hotel, and so long as the wind didn't pick up and try to carry away Deryn's skirts the ride would be as pleasant as carriage rides could be. She still didn't like them, by any means–too much bouncing around for her tasted–but it was unavoidable.

The driver helped her into the carriage even though she could have managed the step on her own with ease. The lady boffin followed, nodding her thanks before they took off.

"How fortunate that you could join me this evening, Delia," Dr. Barlow said, using the fake name she'd been assigned.

"Indeed," Deryn agreed, nodding. "This week has been wonderful. I'll be sad to go home, for certain."

Dr. Barlow adjusted the starched white gloves on her hands, pulling them up so the edges rested at her elbows. "But isn't there a gentleman awaiting your return?"

She offered her "aunt" a sad grimace. "I am afraid not presently." Deryn bit her lip. "I don't suppose that there will be any suitors at the gala tonight?" she asked hopefully, raising her voice just a little more. They'd been speaking their pre-determined lines loud enough that the driver could hear, hoping that he knew something of Thaddeus Welker that was worth sharing.

"I can not be certain of that, though I wish I were. If only I were better informed on the matter," the lady boffin answered, trying to bait the man into speaking. They'd hired this driver specifically because he'd driven Thaddeus and his father at least once during their visit to London.

"Ma'am, if I may," he said finally, glancing over his shoulder at them. "I know of a lad'll be at yer gala. Strapping as can be, and his pa's a count from Germany. I didn't reckon they'd be lettin' those folk into London so soon, but rumor has it he's part of peace negotiations. So he can't be all bad. A pretty lass like you got all the chances in the world of him takin' a fancy to ya." He winked at Deryn, and she could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks.

"Is that so? Well, I shall keep a look out for him. What did you say his name was?" she asked, just for good measure.

"Welker. Thaddeus Welker, miss."

With that, they pulled into the circle drive of the Grand Hotel, and they said their thanks to the driver. Deryn itched to rub the beasts' noses too, tell them they did a good job, but that was neither proper nor ladylike. So instead, she focused her attention at the doors of the hotel, grand as the name suggested, and made an attempt to mentally prepare herself for all that was coming.

Blisters. This may well be the most difficult night of her life.


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N: #thisdungotrewritten**_

The sound of a snapping twig was accompanied by Alek's swear. That didn't really help, he supposed, with his attempt at being stealthy, but he hadn't quite yet gotten the hang of swearing only inside his head.

That was Deryn's fault. Before he met her, he'd hardly ever cursed aloud.

"Shh!" came Bovril's voice, right in his ear. The creature was doing a better job at staying quiet than he was, a fact Alek was starting to resent. How could he be so clumsy as to step on a stick every–

The toe of his boot caught on an exposed root, and he was sent sprawling with yet another exclamation of surprise. Bovril toppled off his shoulder and rolled across the underbrush, making noises that sounded like crinkling leaves as it went.

Alek pushed himself up onto his elbows, shaking his head and spitting leaf bits out of his mouth. For just a moment, he allowed himself to linger in a daze. Then he shook his head, hard, to rid it of all thoughts that didn't involve this mission.

Although, technically, the mission did involve Deryn. Except that she was in a nice, warm hotel ballroom while he was out here, trampling through a forest frosted-over with cold. He didn't mind it, not really, because just the thought of her–whether in that dress, or in the shirt and trousers she usually wore–stirred up a warm feeling in his chest. It didn't spread to the tips of his fingers, which he could barely feel anymore, but at least it took his mind off the long trek he'd had since dropping out from underneath the carriage a half kilometer from the hotel. His instructions were to circle through the woods to the back of the building, where the servant's entrance was located.

It couldn't be much farther now. He'd been walking for what seemed like ages, although he knew only twenty minutes had passed by setting of the sun. His thoughts warred between trying to focus on his task and what he'd heard from Deryn and the lady boffin during their carriage ride. He knew, of course, that this must be Deryn's part in the mission, but that didn't mean he had to like it. Their words buzzed around in his head like angry bees, and their implications stung every time his mind wandered toward them. The idea of her–

He didn't want to think about it, but found he couldn't stop himself.

After what seemed like another kilometer, though was certainly less than a quarter of that, Alek drew to a stop at the edge of the tree line. His eyes took a moment to find the servant's entrance, an unassuming wooden door tucked under an overhang at the near corner of the building.

Dr. Barlow had told him that servant's doors are rarely locked, especially when adjacent to the kitchen. And as he watched, the door was frequently opened to let in some of the cool night air, light spilling out in return. Servants scurried in and out, dumping water or other hasty tasks. Alek figured they wouldn't notice the entrance of an extra staff member, as long as he wasn't spotted too far away from the door. They never ventured farther than ten meters.

He discarded his coat with a shiver, noting dully that any warmth he'd had left clung to the lining of the jacket instead of to the thin material of his servant's uniform. The gusts of wind that rustled through the trees and covered the sound of his passage bit through to his skin like a reminder that no one was meant to be outside on a night like this.

With Bovril tucked tightly around his waist inside the over-sized jacket, Alek nearly ran toward the door, stealth no longer the priority until he got off of the open stretch of grass and somewhere less visible. He followed whatever shadows he could find, and they took him in an arcing path that ended against the hotel, twenty meters from the door. From there, he crept along slowly again, letting the knuckles of his hand drag along the brick wall. A shaft of light opened unhurriedly across the grass as the door let it out. Alek froze exactly where he was, sure that any movement would betray his position.

A man exited the building and stood just outside, both hands in his pockets. He was wearing the uniform of a butler, and as Alek watched he pulled a cigar out of one pocket and a matchbox out of the other. He took his time lighting and smoking the cigar, so long that Alek was sure he was taking his time on purpose. Which would make sense, he supposed, but with each passing second his muscles screamed their complaints. Finally he discarded the cigar and returned the way he'd come.

As soon as the door was completely closed, Alek rushed the last ten meters and wrapped a numb set of fingers around the knob. After the darkness of the night, stepping into the bright warmth of the kitchen was enough to stop Alek in his tracks. He blinked several times and forced himself into motion again, determined not to do anything remotely out of the ordinary.

On his way toward the servant's staircase on the opposite side of the kitchen, a hand fell on his shoulder. He tried not to jump.

"Where are you going, boy?" A gruff voice demanded. Alek turned to see an almost-elderly gentleman wearing the uniform of a senior staff member. The man gave him a narrowed look and a once-over, most likely confused as to Alek's oddly-sized midsection. Thankfully, Bovril was as still as a rock.

Alek just blinked, lost for words. "Uh-" he spluttered.

"You should be serving right now." He pointed to a table covered in trays along one wall, and gave him a less-than gentle push in that direction. Other servers were constantly returning with empty trays, collecting full ones, and exiting to the ballroom. Alek picked one up, his stomach growling as the scent of the spinach-wrapped cheese wafted to him. He mimicked the other servers by balancing it on one hand and holding the other behind his back, and followed them out of the kitchen.

As soon as he could disappear into the crowd of people–trying his hardest not to scan the crowd for Deryn–he ducked into a side hallway and deposited the tray on the seat of the nearest chair. He plucked up one of the cheese balls and ate it as he went further into the hotel and gathered his bearings.

His objective was on the second floor, so as long as he could find a set of stairs, he would know where to go. After a minute or so of wandering, he turned a corner and found a broad set of carpeted stairs, obviously not meant for servant use. And he was still wearing the uniform, so he had to pray that no one came across him, and have an excuse prepared for if he did.

The hallway on the second floor was barren and scarcely lit, and only by sheer luck did he find the correct door in just a few moments. He pulled the lock-picks out of his chest pocket, and handed them to Bovril as it climbed out of his jacket and down his arm. The beastie had shown a surprising knack for the craft when Dr. Barlow was attempting–and failing–to teach Alek how to pick a lock.

In the matter of seconds, Alek heard a click, and Bovril retreated to his shoulder. He turned the knob and slipped into the dark room.

Moving immediately to the nearest set of drawers, he began searching through them, careful to replace everything he moved. It was doubtful a man would hide war plans among his socks, but Clankers were sneaky.

Alek's hands froze in place, clutching a sock.

Less than a year ago, he had been a Clanker himself. Strange, he thought, how quickly everything could change. And for the better, it seemed, a fact he was reminded of every day.

Bovril, who had been content to sit quietly on his shoulder, whispered the sound of footsteps into his ear. Alek shoved the drawer closed and swallowed, hard, scanning the room frantically for a place to hide. His eyes lit on the heavy set of drapes over the windows, thick enough to conceal the two of them. He slid behind them silently, and held his breath as he waited for the–

_Click._

It was the only noise as the door opened, and then another as it was closed. The light of an oil lamp danced along the wall at the edge of the curtain. The floorboards made no noise–fabricated wood–which gave Alek no way to track whomever was in the room. So instead Alek stared at the dark fabric in front of him and strained to hear any slight rustle or scrape, and in a heart-pounding moment the person's breathing when they ventured close to the window. Long minutes passed with Alek not daring to even wiggle his toes.

Finally, the light disappeared and he heard the pair of clicks from the door again, and the person was gone. Alek forced himself to count to three hundred, both to calm himself and to make sure they weren't coming back. Slowly, he stepped out from behind the draperies. As his hands shook with adrenaline, he realized he was still holding the sock.

He had just reached out toward the chest of drawers to resume his search when he heard another click, this one very much unlike the sound of a door.

Alek whirled in time to see the barrel of a gun pointed directly at his chest.


	5. Chapter 5

The night has been a blur of fakes smiles and men-young and old-kissing her hand. She was in the middle of a conversation with Thaddeus, her listening to him rattling of the excitements of his time on a hydrogen balloon, traveling through the Austro-Hungarian Empire. It was hard not to scoff at him, and to gloat about the wonders of the Leviathan. Deryn smiled sweetly at an attempted witty comment about hydrogen breathers. I would have much preferred the knife, she thought, wishing she could at least give him a hard one in the stomach.

When she couldn't stand his company, she excused herself, going to find some wine. Dr. Barlow intercepted her just as she' d hunted down a servant with a tray of glasses. "Dalia, I couldn't help but notice how much Mr. Welker is enjoying your conversation."

"Aye-er-Yes, I believe he is. And that makes one of us."

"The party is over in one hour. Please try to enjoy yourself," and gather some useful intel while you're at it, if you please. Deryn could imagine her saying.

Deryn took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. I can make it through an hour. It'll be easy. And think of what Alek would say if you were a dummkopf and ruined your half of the job. She laughed hesitantly at the thought, turning back toward Thaddeus, only to find he wasn't there. She searched the room for him with her eyes, and was startled when she felt a tap on her shoulder.

"Dalia?" she turned to find Thaddeus behind her, smiling.

"Oh, yes. My apologies for that, Thaddeus. Where were we?" She brandished the glass at him.

"Please, call me Tad. All of my friends do, and I should quite like you to be one of them. You are a very interesting woman, Dalia."

"Is that so, Tad?" she batted her eyelashes at him, all the while thinking elaborate curses.

"Oh, yes. Most girlies haven't the faintest idea of hydrogen ships. Knowing Ms. Barlow as you do, you seem to be more informed."

"Dr. Barlow does enjoy sharing about her time on the-the, oh, one of the hydrogen breathing ships. They are fascinating things, aren't they?"

"Yes," he said carefully, "but machines are much more efficient. They move more quickly and have no need for food, just fuel."

"Food is the fuel for a beastie," you pile of clart. Aye, this one was definitely a Clanker. "And it can think for itself, sensing and avoiding danger even if the pilot doesn't."

He was eager for the challenge, "But machines are impervious to pain. They can continue to move until it is physically impossible, unlike the abominations, which will refuse commands and quit when they don't want to do something."

"Where exactly did you hear this, because I will personally have them know that beasties are truly loyal and will do anything they are-" she stopped. A girl would not argue like this. She was acting like a boy again, gradually moving forward towards her opponent, hands almost clenched into fists. "Told," she finished, fixing a look of satisfaction on her face, like she thought she had just won an unlikely battle, and it was just a game. "Well, that was entertaining. You pose good points, Tad. Thank you for bringing a plausible argument."

He was confused at the sudden change. "You-you're welcome. Dalia. You, too, argue well. Some of my boys back home can't do half as well."

She raised an eyebrow-most boys would never quit without winning. They're conversation continued, and soon enough Dr. Barlow had come to get her. Tad asked to see her again, and she said they could schedule something. As they stepped out into the cool air, their driver got out of the carriage and opened their door. It was not the same person as before, and now there was a top to the traveling cart to keep out the cold. Deryn settled down in her seat, the lady boffin across from her. "You did very well, Deryn. Better than I had expected."

"Aye, I tried, Dr. Barlow," she said, pleased.

They sat in silence for the majority of the ride home. She was suddenly dead tired, and thankfully the lady boffin didn't try to make conversation, either. Deryn listened instead to the beastie's footsteps, and the rumble of the wheels on the ground. The whistle of the wind. She watched the dust dance in the moonlight, settling on the darkened leather of the seats that matched the painted walls. She counted up to three hundred and down again. Twice. The ride hadn't there surely hadn't been as long as this? She thought back to then, how every ticking second seemed faster than the one before. Now they seemed slower for some strange, inexplicable reason.

Finally they drew to a halt. The boffin waited patiently, adjusting her bowler hat. Deryn tried to keep her eyes open. "Here you are, ladies," the driver opened the door and gestured them elegantly out. She couldn't help but notice the frost on his mustache. It must be barking cold out there, on his bench. They rushed inside, Deryn's head down against the chill. Not even stopping to take off her coat, she hurried up to her room.

"Alek?" she peered into his open room, thinking maybe he was asleep already. "Alek?" Still no answer. "Dummkopf, you in there? Aye, of course you aren't. Now I've got to find you before I can take off this barking dress." She flung the coat and wig into her room and kicked off the shoes. He wouldn't be on the roof, would he? It was unlikely. After glancing into every room in the hallway, she skipped down the steps and started looking down there. Dr. Barlow found her investigating the kitchens.

"What are you doing in here?" Deryn jumped.

"Looking for Alek, Ma'am. Have you seen him?"

"No, I have not. But I hardly think he would be snooping around in the kitchens."

You'd be surprised, Deryn didn't say.

"Why are you still wearing that?" the lady boffin and her loris were both eyeing her dress.

"Aye. I hadn't gotten a chance to take it off."

"Did it ever occur to you what a servant may think when he sees a boy wandering around in a skirt?"

Barking spiders! She hadn't thought of that. What if someone had seen her? Oh, she was such a blithering idiot. "I'm going to go change then. Sorry."

"See that you do. And please be quick about it."

"Aye," Deryn said, and took the shortest route to her room. She was glad to get back into trousers and a loose shirt. It made getting around much easier. Breathing, too. She quick scrubbed her face and smoothed out her hair a squick in the small mirror.

"I see you're getting used to this girl thing," his voice sounded pained. She caught a flash of red in the mirror right before she turned around. And cursed.

"What happened to you?" his left sleeve was red almost from the shoulder down, his hand streaked with blood.

He drew in a sharp breath, "Nothing that hasn't happened before. I got shot."

"But that was a barking air pistol! And it was a ricochet!"

"Oh, really? I hadn't noticed, and it's not as bad as all that. It stopped hurting about an hour and a half ago."

"An-what? How long ago did this happen?"

"Two hours, maybe? I think the cold got to it."

"Barking spiders, Alek! Just-take your shirt off, I need a better look at it," he hesitated, so she started unbuttoning the vest for him. Then the shirt. The blood had frozen the shirt the sleeve to his skin, so she had to pry it off carefully. His skin was cold to the touch. "What happened to you?" she repeated and grabbed a clean shirt, dunking it in water. He barely flinched when she pressed it to his arm, cleaning off the blood. That was bad-the water was cold, she knew, from washing her face. She grabbed a blanket from her bed and draped it over his body, leaving only his arm exposed.

"Don't like what you see?" he joked, but it was strained.

"No, I don't like seeing you bleeding and half frozen! Now answer me!"

"Okay, Deryn," his eyebrows were creased, in pain or confusion or thinking, she couldn't tell, "I was searching the room, and someone came in, so I hid in the curtains. I waited until the lamps were out and the door was closed and when I came back out, he was there."

"Who was?"

"I don't know. It was dark, and I could hardly think with a gun shoved at my chest. I knocked it out of his hand and I almost made it out of the window before he shot. I'm lucky he only caught my arm.

"The fall to the ground wasn't fun. It twisted my ankle a bit. Made running to the trees and climbing one when they came looking-ow! God's wounds, that hurt!"

She had begun to clean the shot wound itself, pressing the rewetted shirt on it. "Sorry. Go on."

"I hid in the top of a tree for at least an hour. Then I walked here and climbed up the side of the building," he flinched.

"You climbed up a tree and the house with a barking hole in your arm?"

"I suppose I did. It's not really a hole, after all. More of a-ow-"

"You'll need stitches. The bullet isn't in your arm anymore. It must've gone straight through. Lucky it missed your bone. That would've been messy. And then you couldn't have climbed anything."

"Don't remind me."

"Wait here. I'll be back. I've got to tell the boffin and get a needle," she said. When she got back, Dr. Barlow in tow, Alek was sitting in the same spot, grimacing.

"The feeling came back," his words were short, clipped in pain. He watched her settle down next to him, eyes narrowed at the sharp sliver of metal in her hand.

"Well, then this won't be pleasant," she gritted her teeth, trying to sound unfazed. It probably didn't work. Gingerly, she held his arm and lowered the needle towards it.

"You know how to do this, right?" Alek asked, shrinking away.

"Aye, I learned on the Leviathan."

He still eyed her warily, but then nodded to her and closed his eyes. When it first pierced the skin he let out a few very unprincely curses, which Bovril echoed from his place on Deryn's bed. She ignored them and continued.

"Will you stop that?" she demanded when he'd flinched or moaned for about the fifth time.

"You try having stitches put in your arm!"

"I have, and I didn't make as much of a barking fuss as you."

"Right," he said, defeated. He'd been there when she'd crash landed the glider wings in Mexico, and she'd been discovered by the reporter Eddie Malone. He was much quieter after that.

"There," she looked down at her work, pleased. Dr. Barlow, who had been standing silently in the doorway, came over to inspect.

"Excellent work, Mr. Sharp. This would have been a tricky thing to explain to a doctor," she turned to Alek, "I trust, then, that you were not successful, Aleksandar," Deryn gaped at her, and Alek shook his head. "That complicates things. It is nothing but a setback, though. I expect we'll be back on track soon enough. Do heal well, Aleksandar," she said, and left the two of them alone.

"Barking insensitive, that was," Deryn said in disbelief, wrapping his arm in the gauze cloth she'd brought with the needle. "Now let me see your foot."

"No, she was right. I failed, Deryn," he pulled on the laces of his shoe and let her wiggle it off his foot-she doubted he could have done it himself with one properly working arm-along with the sock. There was some bruising, and the ankle itself was swollen, but not much.

"The cold outside must have kept it down."

"What?"

"The swelling. All your time out there was like when you put ice on your eye after getting punched and it doesn't swell."

"I'm not even going to ask how you know that."

"It happened to Jaspert several times."

"That's not what I expected you to say. Ouch! Why did you do that?"

She had poked his foot. "For fun," she said. He glared at her, so she answered truthfully, "I was testing for feeling. Frostbite is a nasty thing."

"You're welcome, then," when she gave him a question look, he continued, "For saving you from a frostbitten bum."

"Aye, I believe you've been thanked for that enough. Your foot's just twisted. Stay off it for a while and you'll be fine."

"Certainly, Doctor Sharp," she rolled her eyes and looked for a good place to discard the bloody shirts. Alek's was pretty well ruined, and Deryn wasn't sure if the stains would come out of hers. She decided to leave it for the morning and draped them over the window sill. "Can I put a shirt on now?"

"Hmm... No. None of that for you. It's your punishment for being a bum rag and getting shot."

"It really wasn't my-"

"Nope. Doctor's orders. Now get to bed, you ninny, and I will see that you have my personal assistance to get to breakfast tomorrow morning." She tossed the blanket back onto her bed and led him across the hall, supporting part of his weight, secretly delighting in the fact that he was completely shirtless.


	6. Chapter 6

As Alek lay in bed, staring at the dark ceiling, his thoughts wandered back through the evening. It had, of course, been much worse than he'd let her believe.

He'd been both thanking Deryn for making him climb the trees in the park and cursing anything and everything that had led him into his current situation. The cold was all around him, gradually stealing all the heat in his body, and every gust of wind brought another fit of shivering. Watching the blood trickle out onto his arm, he'd been afraid that it would start dripping to the ground below, and then the people searching would see it and find him and-he didn't know what, and didn't care to think about it. He was afraid he'd spend all of eternity up there, waiting either for the men to go away or to die. Bovril had been one warm spot, curled around his uninjured shoulder, and he would have liked for the loris to be on his lap instead, but didn't dare move it and lose the warmth.

It had been the lorie that told him it was alright to come out of the tree, in it's own perspicacious way. If it hadn't, he probably wouldn't have ever come down; Moving was too hard. His muscles had stiffened in the cold and moving them again reignited the pain in his arm and foot. He had limped all the way back to the estate, doggedly pressing on. Then came the final part, pulling himself up the the side of the mansion. Sure, He could have walked up to the front door, but that would have caused a ruckus, and when he saw the light in Deryn's room, it felt like a sign. His muscles had taken over for him from all of the nights he and Deryn had done it, so he hardly remembered pulling himself up the building.

He tried to make it sound not as bad to her because the look on her face told him how she would react. She was on edge, he could tell by her short sentences and unwillingness for his jokes, and full detail would've pushed her over. So instead he pretended to be fine, calm, even, so she would be too.

Alek didn't fall asleep for a long time, and when he did it was shallow and restless. Whenever he moved something on his body hurt, and lying still never lasted long. He was glad when he heard Deryn stirring in her room, dressing and "tailoring" herself. He decided to see if she was in a better mood this morning by pretending he'd followed her instructions and left off his shirt. It was easy enough to get off himself since he'd only shoved one arm in the night before. Then he lay back down and waited.

"Rise and shine, your princeliness. Breakfast time!" she said, opening his door and striding right to his bedside. "You decent?"

"Yes ma'am!" he replied, mimicking her chipperness, pulled back his own covers, and sat up, wincing. She raised an eyebrow at him, and he tilted his head, the picture of innocence.

"Put a barking shirt on, Alek. You're enjoying yourself too much."

"I was only following the doctor's orders," he said, and grabbed for the shirt she offered him.

"In that case..." she snatched it away and dangled it just out of his reach. She was playing, which meant she was in a good mood.

"Well, are you going to help me downstairs or shall I hop there myself?" he stood, balancing on one foot.

"Come on, then," she took hold of his left arm and brought it around her shoulder, forcing him to lean on her, and tossed the shirt onto the floor. He hobbled along with her for a moment, but at the door he lost his nerve.

"Actually, I want a shirt. There's a breeze in the dining room, and I wouldn't want to catch a chill, would I?"

"That's what I thought. Stay put," she said smugly, and left him standing in the doorway to retrieved it. His bad arm was pushed through first, carefully, and then the other. Deryn buttoned it for him. "Now are you ready?"

He looked himself over. "Yes."

Dr. Barlow was waiting for them, a slight scowl on her face. "How are you feeling this morning, Aleksandar?"

"Much better, Dr. Barlow," he lied. They took their places at the table, and biscuits with tea were brought out. Deryn immediately grabbed several-she often complained how much she missed the food on the Leviathan, especially the potatoes-and poured herself a large cup of tea. Alek took one biscuit and nibbled at it. "How did it go for you last night, Dylan?"

"Oh," she said around a mouthful of biscuit. She continued chewing for a moment, swallowed, and washed it down with a big gulp of tea. "Great. Just fine. Met a boy, and he seems to like me. We'll be having a lunch on Tuesday." she waggled her eyebrows and took another bite.

Alek felt like storm clouds had just set in. "Is that so?"

"Aye. Quite handsome he is. A German fellow, too, but his ears are normal sized," she said, mouth full.

"Mind your manners, Mr. Sharp," the boffin told her. Both the lorises agreed with her and promptly took a biscuit off the table. They seemed content with chewing for the time being.

"Sorry, Miss. Anyway, he says I argue great. Better than some of the boys he knows. He also wants me to call him Tad," Deryn taunted him.

"He sounds like a clart covered bum rag to me."

"And you sound just a squick jealous to me." she reached over and punched him playfully on the shoulder. "I'm only barking joking, Alek. He's not near as good looking as you. I like big ears."

He scoffed and continued to pick flakes off of his biscuit.

"You gonna eat that thing or what?" Deryn pointed at the mangled bread in his hands.

"No. Do you want it?" he said, offering it to her.

"Aye, I do, but you need to eat to heal. How do you think I stay so...strapping?" she chuckled, "Gobble up, Prince!"

He grudgingly took a bite and chewed it, washing it down with a gulp of tea under Deryn's glare. "Are you happy now?"

"Aye. Very."

The doorbell rang then, and they sat silently while it was answered. The doorman led in a boy, about Alek's age, with scruffy hair and and airman's uniform that fit a bit too loosely. A scar ran the length of his face, forehead to cheek, so for a moment Alek didn't recognize him.

"Newkirk!" Deryn cried, her boy voice threatening to break. She leaped out of her chair and rushed at him, smothering him in a bear hug.

"Hullo, Dylan. It's good to see you again." he said when she'd let go.

"Aye, that's dead certain. What's barking happened to you?" she openly eyed the scar.

"A flechette bat got me. Godless beast didn't go out for an attack, got caught on something, I think, and when the searchlight went red..."

"God's wounds, Mr. Newkirk, that sounds awful," Alek scooted the chair out from behind himself and stood.

"Aye, it wasn't pleasant. Lucky I ducked back and it didn't catch my arm so bad," he shook his head, "And you, Alek?"

"He had an accident last night." The boffin responded. Alek noticed how she left out any details. "I don't mean to be frank, Mr. Newkirk, but why are you here?"

"Aye, I figured you'd ask me that. I need to speak with Mr. Sharp, if you don't mind."

"By all means."

Deryn held out a biscuit to him, "And have some food while you're at it. You've gotten too barking skinny."


	7. Chapter 7

Deryn's heart was pounding. She'd missed the other midshipman like blazes since she'd left the Leviathan. Now he was here and he looked worse for wear. His uniform was dirty and didn't fit properly, his hair looked like it hadn't been cut for far too long, and he held his arm gingerly like a wound had healed bad.

"Dylan." Newkirk began. She waited patiently for him to continue. His mouth opened several times, like he were going to, but no words were coming out. There was a pain in his eyes, and Deryn knew whatever he had to say wasn't good. "I-It's-" He stopped again.

"What is is, Mr. Newkirk?"

"I shouldn't be alive right now."

She stared at him blankly.

"I-I was on a mission. Simple reconnaissance, scouting out land where there were some Clankers hiding. In the mountains. But it went wrong, Dylan, so wrong. Mr. Rigby and the other men-we got caught, and all of them..."

His words were swallowed by sobs, and Deryn felt awkward as she pulled him into her arms for comfort. Briefly she wondered if that was something boys did. Not knowing what to say, she stood silently and let him shake in her arms.

He pulled away and angrily scrubbed the tears from his eyes, so much like when she'd last seen him. "I escaped. There was a fight, and Mr. Rigby told me to run-that they needed someone to survive to tell what we'd seen..." he broke into more harsh sobs.

Blisters, the boy was a wreck. And how had he barking got all the way here from wherever he'd been? The nearest mountains were in northern Britain, and there was no way Clankers could hide there, in the heart of Darwinist land. That left the Alps in Switzerland, or even the Kjolen across the sea in Norway, both of which were ridiculously far away.

No matter where Newkirk had been, it was obvious he'd be here for a while.

"Come on, I'll get you a room. A bit of sleep will fix you right up, I suppose," when she tugged on his arm, he didn't budge. "Listen. For now you got to take care of yourself. Just because they're gone doesn't mean you are too. You hear me? I've been down the road your on, and I can tell you now all that's waiting at the end is a cliff. And the moment you fall of you won't come back up. So what you're going to do is haul your bum upstairs and get some sleep. And when you wake up you can tell me everything, all right?"

He gave her a grunt for an answer and shuffled toward the door. Alek and Dr. Barlow watched in silence as the two of them crossed to the main room, and then up the stairs. Deryn led him into the nearest room and left him be. The door slid closed behind her without a sound.

She took her place at the table and speared a biscuit with her fork angrily. "What are you staring at?"

"You, it would seem, Mr. Sharp." Dr. Barlow stirred her tea slowly. Deryn avoided the question on Alek's face by tearing off a piece of bread and grinding it in her teeth.

"Well, then. Newkirk will be here for at least a week, I think." She popped the rest of the biscuit in her mouth and stood. "If that'll be all?"

"Yes. Please dress for zoo duty. We have nothing else planned for today, so you will be tending the animals."

"Aye, ma'am," she rounded the table and pulled out Alek's chair, helping him out of it.

"You will be excused from your duties today, Aleksandar, and until you are able to walk again on your own."

"Yes, ma'am."

Deryn loved the days when she worked with the beasties. It was simple, satisfying work, and she enjoyed the company they gave her. The birds twittered happily, and the wind brushed through the trees with a lazy whisper. The sun beat down on her back as she cleaned out their enclosures, talking to the beasties along the way.

An elephantine nudged her on the shoulder with it's trunk. "Hullo there, beastie. And how are you today?"

It made a soft noise at her, one that sounded happy.

"I'll take that as 'tip-top, sir, and how are you?'" she stroked the beastie's snout absently, "Well, since you asked, I'm really not 'tip-top' as you say. You see, with my friend here-let's just say he's visiting-it'll not be easy to meet this other guy on Tuesday without him finding out my-er-secret," she said carefully, making sure there were no humans around to hear. "I'm just not sure how to pull it off-I'm happier than a box of kittens he's here, don't you get me wrong on that. I guess I could probably sneak out without him noticing, but it wouldn't be easy. And I need another skirt, too. I can hardly wear the same one again-it would be barking suspicious."

It trumpeted suddenly, as if in agreement. She tilted her head at it. "What's going on inside your attic, beastie? Do you know what I'm saying, or do you just like people to talk to you?"

The creature blew in her face, ruffling her hair. Deryn stepped back, laughing, "Forget I said anything!" She shook her head and resumed her work, telling the elephantine everything she couldn't tell anyone else.

Blisters, why was everything so much easier with beasties than people?


	8. Chapter 8

Alek was laying on his bed, thoroughly bored. He almost wished that he, too, were out doing work in the zoo rather than here, nothing to occupy his mind but the patterns on the quilt. His fingers traced them lazily, like a turtle moving about on a warm summer's day. The room itself was nothing too extravagant, just the bed and a small, utilitarian desk with a few papers scattered on top. His window was identical to Deryn's across the hall, and an image of himself climbing through it came to his mind.

"Um...Alek?"

He jolted out of his trance to find Newkirk perched in the doorway. "Hmm?"

"Do you mind if I talk to you for a bit? It's barking maddening by myself."

"Please do. As a matter of fact, I was just thinking the same thing."

The boy sat at the desk, pulling a knee up to his chest and hugging it close. "Do you ever miss your ma and pa? I haven't seen mine since I left home for the Service, not even heard from them."

Sadness shone in his eyes, and Alek could imagine it reflected in his own. "Yes. I miss them often, Mr. Newkirk."

His eyes widened, "Oh-I forgot. Your parents-they're-"

"Dead, yes." He was surprised how it was almost easy to say that now. The pain was still a knife in his chest, but it had dulled ever so slightly, replaced by a new feeling. "What is your family like, Mr. Newkirk? I do not believe you've ever told me about them."

He shifted uncomfortably in the chair. "There really isn't much to say, Alek. I got a younger sister, and my ma and pa."

"Go on."

"Well, Laura's a feisty one. She once got in a fight with a boy her age for saying she couldn't beat him. Her eye was bruised for a week, but the boy was worse off," he shook his head, remembering.

"She sounds a lot like Der-Lilit. You haven't met her, have you?"

"No. You'll have to introduce me sometime."

"Indeed, I will." Alek cursed silently for his slip of tongue. "Are you really so much of Monkey Luddites as Dylan says?"

Newkirk gave him a withering look. "Aye, my ma is. Da isn't as hard about it, though. He don't like the creatures, but he has to work with them every day in the mines."

"Where do you live?"

"Easington. It's a mining town along the coast of Britain. Small place," he tilted his head wistfully.

"This may sound like a strange question," Alek started, unsure how to phrase his words, "But what is your first name?"

The boy stood up and thrust out his hand, laughing. "Midshipman Eugene Newkirk, at your service. Great name, I know. You can call me Singe, if you like. My mates back at home gave me the nickname after an incident with some coal... and I guess it fits more now after my adventure on the huxley..."

"I think I will-Singe," he took his hand and shook it. "Aleksandar von Hohenberg."

"It's kind of strange," Singe sat down on the bed, "you being a barking prince and all. You could have ruled the Austro-Hungarian Empire! If you don't mind my asking, why give it all away?"

Now it was Alek's turn to feel uncomfortable. "Call it providence-it wasn't meant to be. This-being here, working with the Zoological Society, it is." With a suppressed groan of pain, Alek moved over to give the other boy more room.

"You found a lass who strikes your fancy, then." Singe guessed, completely innocent but dangerously close to Deryn's secret.

"In a sense. Do you have a girl, Singe?"

The look on his face said he wanted to further investigate the matter, but didn't. "No. There was this one, but she's got nothing in her attic, if you know what I mean."

Alek smiled. "You should definitely meet Lilit."


	9. Chapter 9

She checked her reflection in the window one last time before striding out to the waiting motorized carriage, which would have Tad waiting for her within. The nerve of him, to ride a Clanker machine around London.

The driver opened the door for her, and she thanked him as she climbed in.

"Hello, Dalia," Tad took her hand and kissed it, and despite herself, Deryn felt a blush creep across her face and busied herself arranging her skirt to hide it.

"Hello, Tad. Lovely day, isn't it?" She said without looking up.

"Yes. Quite. It's warm, for February" He leaned back on the seat. "So, I figure that first we'd eat lunch at a small cafe I found, and then we could stroll through Regent's Park..."

Deryn smirked at the name, thinking of her first encounter with the place. When she had first met Dr. Barlow.

"Is something funny?"

"Hmm? Oh, no. There isn't." Deryn shook her head.

"I like your smile," the boy said softly.

She blinked. "What?"

"Your smile. It's quite beautiful."

"Oh. Thanks. Yours too." She said awkwardly. And snorted. So this was flirting, eh? Deryn was glad that she and Alek had pretty much skipped it, because she was proving to be terrible at flirting. "Regents park, you said? Now that is a beautiful thing," she continued, "Did you know they once set an airbeast down there, just do pick up Dr. Barlow?"

Tad frowned. "Yes. I'd heard. That was almost a year ago, wasn't it?"

"Seven months, actually. That happened in June. My-er-aunt told me all about it."

"Did she?"

"Oh, ay-yes. She tells me about all of her adventures." She said as the automobile pulled up alongside a little restaurant. It had whitewashed walls and bright orange shutters on all the windows, and a few empty tables outside for summer diners.

Tad led her inside and to a window table. As she sat down, Deryn rearranged the hair on the wig so it laid on her back and not her shoulder. She'd forgotten how fussy having long hair was.

"Please, tell me more. I've been following some stories that involve your aunt, but it would be much different to hear it from you, who heard it from the woman herself."

As a waiter came and served them coffee, she hid a large smile. "Well. There is quite a lot to say. She has done many memorable things. Especially aboard the Leviathan." Deryn stopped and smiled evilly. Why not make him squirm a bit? "From what she's told me, there are also many interesting men aboard the ship. I've met two of them, who work for Aunt Barlow now. That midshipman-Dylan's his name-now there's a strapping fellow."

A sneer crept onto Tad's face, and Deryn fought a snicker. "Oh? What makes him so... strapping?"

"All airmen have a certain swagger to them. Dylan isn't too hard on the eyes, either. Neither is the prince." She said, completely innocent. "They're nice boys, too. Very respectful."

"I shall have to meet them sometime. They sound... friendly."

Deryn realized her mistake too late. "He's-uh-Yes. Maybe."

The food came, and Deryn chewed on it thoughtfully. There wasn't much too the food, and she found herself wanting to spear several slices of bread from the little basket, but didn't because of her "ladylike manners". Her stomach growled.

"Did you read this morning's newspaper?" He asked suddenly.

"No, I didn't."

"Then you haven't read about the Taniwha." Deryn raised her eyebrows in response, and he continued. "It exploded early last night, over Scotland."

"Bar-Oh, my, not another one! I thought surely the Danava was an isolated incident."

"It surely wasn't. Those airbeasts are fragile things. It shows how superior technology is."

Now her eyebrows lowered into a glare, "What makes you say that?"

"A German zeppelin, Spear, was in the area. Personally I believe there is no doubt it took down the abomination."

Deryn could feel the heat rising in her cheeks, and took a bite of food to keep herself from telling the boy to get stuffed. It was best to change the subject.

"So what have you been up to recently?" she asked, careful to make sure she had swallowed before speaking.

"At present I'm traveling around Europe with my father for the next few months. He wants me to see more of the world than just Austria-Hungary. Here in London is our first stop. I regret to say we will be leaving in a few days for France. How long are you in London for?"

"Until the day after tomorrow," she lied. Plates clinked as they were cleared, and after Tad payed they left.

At a leisurely pace, they walked around the park. Deryn only half paid attention to what he was saying about all of his adventures because she was concentrating on walking like a girl, twirling her skirts, and all that clart.

Soon they were back at the coach, and driving her to the mansion. Deryn felt his eyes on her the whole time they talked, and purposely avoided his gaze.

"I've had a wonderful afternoon," he said seriously the moment they pulled up.

"So have I." Deryn stepped out of the carriage.

"Will you just look at me?" he tugged on her shoulder and she turned to face him.

"What?" She fixed him with a steely glare, not sure what his problem was.

Tad said: "Oh-the hell with it!" and kissed her.

It was so different from the way Alek kissed. He held her strongly, like she wasn't some delicate girl, and he was so sure of himself.

Tad was more like a butterfly; light and hesitant, as though she could break if he pressed too hard. He pulled back with an astonished look on his face. Hers was probably the same.

"Right. So-I guess I'll be seeing you," Deryn stuttered. Keep your head, ninny! It's only a barking kiss!

Now the corners of his mouth tipped up. "You are a great kisser, Dalia. I sincerely hope to be seeing you. Soon." Her face must have been as red as his, and the brisk wind that had rose up wasn't helping. At all.

"Alright. Bye."


	10. Chapter 10

**Hullo, everyone. (All two of you...) So, here's chapter 10 for y'all. Please R&R!**

Newkirk placed yet another borrowed shirt in his travel bag and latched it, hefting it off the bed and walking into the hall.

There was giggling coming from Alek's room.

Newkirk rolled his eyes. It was just him and Dylan, who were as friendly as a box of kittens, just like they'd always been; except for those few days in Asia.

He peeked in. At least their bags were packed. "Aren't we leaving soon?"

"Right. Shall we?" Alek stood and made his way to the door, only limping slightly.

He didn't understand why they all had to bring so barking many clothes. He expected it of Dr. Barlow, but Dylan and Alek hardly seemed to need so much. All the three of them were doing was escorting Singe to the Leviathan while it was resupplying in Paris, France. Not that he was complaining, of course; he'd take all the time with his old friends he could get. The ship just wasn't the same without Dylan and Alek.

The three of them walked down the hall and out to the carriage together, and loaded up their luggage. Following shortly after was the lady boffin, who had as many bags as the three of them together, and Tazza alongside her, bouncing around on his leash and yapping at anything that moved. The birds sang in the crisp spring air, some green just returning to the world after the winter.

All five of them piled into the carriage, Dylan and Dr. Barlow on one side and Newkirk and Alek on the other. As soon as they pulled away from the mansion, Newkirk joined in a lively debate with Dylan and Alek, and the lady boffin sat quietly, stroking Tazza's head.

The train station was a bustling place filled with all sorts of shops and people. A plump old man at the ticket desk reminded Newkirk of Master Klopp more than a bit, with an unmistakable Austrian accent to boot. He took their tickets with a smile and twirled his mustache as the pointed to their platform. They found a bench to wait on, and Newkirk was sent to find a coffee stand for some beverages. The noise of conversation and train whistles buzzed in Singe's ears as he wandered, fingering the few coins in his hand.

"Hey, there, laddie! You need somewhere to spend that money of yours?" a greasy old man called to him with a sneer that showed a small number of yellowed and chipped teeth.

Newkirk kept walking, pretending not to have heard.

"I know just the place," he continued, and smoothed his thinning hair down. "A young man like you must be needing the company of a lady." The man caught Singe's arm just as he walked by, somehow in his reach. He stifled a cry of pain-his arm hadn't healed right from when it had been broken in the Kjolen mountains, so it hurt almost constantly now, but not anything unbearable; now a bolt of fire shot through his arm.

"Get your barking hands off me!" Newkirk snarled, trying his best to sound threatening instead of hurt.

The man curled his lip. "You shouldn't talk to your elders like that, boy," he said, and spat in Singe's face with impeccable aim. "It'll come back to you in a bad way! It always does."

He rubbed the spit away hastily and retreated into the crowd, and he could hear the cackling behind him but didn't dare look back, tears prickling in his eyes. His mum was always telling him that, and once she spat in his hand for good measure. It was so hauntingly familiar that he almost felt he'd been cursed.

As fast as he could, Newkirk found a coffee stand and bought four of them and rushed back to where the others waiting, so eager to leave the man behind he sloshed coffee on his shirt.

"What's go you in such a hurry?" Dylan raised an eyebrow at the stain. "You've got the coffee all upset now; it's jumping as much as Tazza!"

Alek laughed at the comparison, but all Singe could do was frown. "Sorry, someone bumped into me. It isn't exactly easy to carry four cups with two hands."

Dylan rolled his eyes and took one from him. "Lighten up, man, I'm only playing. Stop taking everything so seriously, Mr. Newkirk, and have some fun."

Taking a deep breath, Singe nodded. "Aye, aye, sir!" He was saluting the boy just as the whistle of the train filled their ears.


	11. Chapter 11

The English countryside was much different on the ground than the air. The colors were much more vibrant, and the herds of animals they passed were very much not the size of dots, many of them fabricated.

Alek sipped at some hot chocolate as he stared out the window at the land shooting by. The door opened to emit Singe, who'd just returned with hot chocolate of his own, and Deryn, with what was presumably very strong coffee. The three of them shared a cabin on the overnight train ride, Dr. Barlow and Tazza next door.

Deryn sat down nervously and gave Alek a panicked look. "Um, Singe, can you go ask Dr. Barlow if she wants some hot chocolate?"

"Aye," he said and stood again, the door sliding shut behind him silently.

"Dylan?"

"It's Tad. He's here. On the train."

His eyes widened. "You mean, the one from the party?"

"No, dummkopf, the other one. Of course the one from the party!"

Alek narrowed his eyes in thought. "Where did you see him?"

"He was right after us in line for coffee. I was lucky he didn't recognize me." She blinked a few times and took a steadying breath.

Alek stood abruptly, sending a twinge through his ankle. "I'll be right back..."

It was time he met this Tad. "Where are you barking going?"

"To make a new friend," he said. There was the audible sound of Deryn slapping her legs.

"Not likely, ninny. You can still hardly walk! And what if-" her voice lowered "-what if he's the one that shot you?"

"What if he was? It was dark-he wouldn't recognize me."

"Any amount of darkness won't hide the barking hole in your arm, Alek."

He looked down his nose at it. His sleeve covered the bandage, and if he didn't move around a lot, he could hide the stiffness well enough. "I'll be fine, Dylan."

She caught his arm as he stood. "Don't, Alek. As long as I avoid him-oh, barking spiders, Alek!"

He was already out the door, and making his way to the dining car. Both his foot and arm complained with every step, and he set his jaw against it. Then it occurred to him that he didn't know what this boy looked like.

And he'd forgotten his hot chocolate.

All the more reason to get another from the dining car. The man behind the counter smiled at him pleasantly, politely forgetting to ask why he was back so soon. Steam rose from the mug and curled around his fingers. He watched over the rim at the others in the car, looking for someone around his age.

"Could it be?" came a voice from behind him. Alek turned, and saw just what he was looking for. A tall boy, probably taller than Deryn, with very black hair and pale skin had fixed him with an incredulous look. "The famous Prince Aleksandar of Hohenberg?"

"Just Mr. Hohenberg these days, I'm afraid." He held out his good arm. The other boy seized it and shook. Alek tried not to grimace.

"Thaddeus Welker. You may have heard of me; I recently made the acquaintance of Miss Dalia Barlow, and I am under the impression that the two of you know each other."

"Oh, yes. We know each other very well." Alek hid a smug grin as Thaddeus's cheeks colored.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Hohenberg."

"Please, call me Alek. It is much less of a mouth full."

"In that case, I am Tad. You speak German, yes?" Tad said, in German.

"Yes," Alek replied likewise. "Of course. But is it wise to speak this language in a Darwinist country?"

He waved a hand. "It is not an important matter. What brings you on this train, Alek?"

Alek sighed. He was a horrible liar, though he had improved recently. Still, staying close to the truth was the best idea. "I am on a business trip. And you?"

"I am on my way to France with my father. We are traveling around Europe. Who are you traveling with, Alek?"

God's wounds, what did he dare say? Maybe Deryn was right. He shouldn't have blundered out here and started talking to this Clanker boy.

"Alek! That's where you went!" Singe clapped him on the shoulder. "I was beginning to wonder where you'd gone off to!" He turned to Tad. "Midshipman Dylan Sharp, at your service."

Alek blinked as Tad took Singe's hand and shook it, looking him firmly in the eye and then at his scar. He regarded Singe with a slight frown of disdain and a crease in his eyebrows. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Dylan."

"Well, I suppose I'm not a midshipman anymore. I work for the Zoological society now. It's a pleasure to meet you..."

"Thaddeus Welker. I've been following your exploits in the newspaper, as I was just telling Alek here."

"Aye, that's barking wonderful and all, but I've just come to fetch Alek here, not to chat. I'm sorry, but we've very important matters to discuss." Singe took Alek by the arm and steered him away from the table. As they walked away, Alek caught the glower on the other boy's face.

She jerked her head up the moment they walked in, chewing her lower lip viciously. Singe deposited Alek on the bench, hard enough to set him grimacing from the jolt, and sat himself down so the two of them faced Deryn. She moved on to biting her top lip.

Singe's eyebrows shot up, "So? What was that about? Why did I have to pretend to be you just now?"

"Blisters, there's no easy way to say this, Mr. Newkirk." She said, her voice steadily rising, "But-I'm a girl."

His eyes widened, and then he burst out laughing.

"That's a barking good one, Dylan! You had me going there for a squick!"

He looked at Alek, to see him laughing, too, and his face turned to stone.

"This isn't a joke, Eugene." Alek told him. "Her name is Deryn." His eyes darted between the two of them, still waiting for them to crack. They didn't.

"Mr. Sharp!" Bovril exclaimed from where it had nestled in Alek's open luggage bag. Alek patted it's head to quiet it.

"You can't be serious. Can you?"

Silence settled in like a dead weight around them; even the train's rattle seemed to dampen.

"I am." Deryn sighed. "Please don't barking make me prove it."

"You can go ask Dr. Barlow. She knows," Alek said helpfully. Nodding dumbly, Singe stood and stumbled across the hall.

"That went beautifully." Deryn growled.

"Ah-yes." Alek made a face. "And you've me to thank for it."

Singe returned a few moments later, led by the lady boffin. "Mr. Sharp? What is the meaning of this?"

"Ms. Sharp." Deryn said firmly, looking the older woman in the eye.

"It would seem I was not the last to know, then," Dr. Barlow said, and her loris sniffed haughtily.

"Last to know."

Singe took a deep breath. "You mean you've really been a girl this whole time?"

"That's a daft thing to say. Do you think I would have just become one?"

"No. Sorry, Dyl-Deryn." He looked away. "Why did you-you know-be-uh..."

Deryn heaved a great sigh. "Blisters, this is going to be a long night."


	12. Chapter 12

Her hands stung slightly in the early spring cold, so she wrapped them tightly around the small mug, already half drained of the strong French coffee. As Alek pointed to an ornate chapel across from the cafe and told Newkirk about it, Deryn brought the rim to her lips and sniffed in the steam.

Dr. Barlow, who up until that point had been silently reading the newspaper, made a small gasp of surprise. "Oh dear."

Alek paused his lecture to look at her, "What is it, Dr. Barlow?"

"It would appear that yet another airship has perished in flames. The Rusalka." She shook her head sadly, and began reading aloud: "'The Rusalka, a British airbeast full of many brave men was attacked and brought down on this Friday, February twelfth in a string of recent attacks. One man, though, rose through the smoke and claimed a small victory for his home country of Great Britain.

"Sebastian Fitzroy, a midshipman crewmember, valiantly leaped aboard a Roth Aerial Battle Turtle, a new addition to the swarm of hydrogen breathers, and aimed himself directly at the nearby German zeppelin, the Claw. Using only an air pistol, Sebastian took down the five men guarding the weapon responsible and retrieved the machine, gliding with it to safety. It has been taken for examination by leading scientists, and in the meantime Sebastian is being presented with the Air Gallantry Cross. He is a true hero, and may now even have surpassed the daring midshipman Dylan Sharp by bringing this Clanker assault to its knees."

Deryn's mouth snapped shut with a clop. Alek's hand, which had paused mid-gesture, dropped onto his lap, and Newkirk's face twisted in disdain. "Fitzroy." was all he said, but it summed up exactly what Deryn was thinking. Well, he could have added "bum rag" and gotten away with it.

"What is a Roth Aerial Battle Turtle?" Alek asked.

"One of my more recent fabrications. Maximum Roth and I worked on it together for some time, and it is quite a success. Like an airbeast, it has a membrane holding in the hydrogen, but that membrane is very weak. So we gave it a shell."

"But isn't a shell barking heavy, ma'am?"

"Not if it is made of keratin. It's both light and durable."

Newkirk pulled a face. "You mean it's made of fingernails?"

The boffin raised an eyebrow. "Or toenails, whichever you prefer." As Newkirk muttered something about godless fabs, Deryn and Alek burst out laughing like hyenas.

"How many airships have gone down now?" Alek asked carefully.

"Three." Deryn said simply. "Danava, Taniwha, and now Rusalka."

"And this Fitzroy could have just stopped another, if the boffins can counter it in time?"

"Yes." Deryn growled. She'd never liked Fitzroy, and it hurt her pride for the newspaper to say he'd one-upped her. Then get over it and do something better, she told herself. Da always said that the only way to fix a problem was to fix it yourself.

"It also says that he's back on the Leviathan now." Dr Barlow added. Newkirk groaned just as Deryn did, and they exchanged a smile. Then he looked away awkwardly, having forgotten that she was a girl and then feeling strange about it. Deryn sighed. She wished he'd just get over it and treat her like he always had.

"Speaking of which," Alek said, looking up at the sky, "we need to get to the airfield."


	13. Chapter 13

It was a fine day to land a beastie, Singe thought, unlike the day they'd tried to set down on a glacier in the mountains of Norway. The wind had been shuffling snow up into their faces even from one hundred feet, and before long Captain Hobbes decided to just send him and the other men down on ropes. So he had slid down, swinging in the wind, jerking himself to a near halt every few feet, the friction of the rope slipping through his gloves the only heat.

From there they'd left the ship behind and trudged through the snow wearing tennis racquet-like things on their feet. Snowshoes, they were called. He, middy Levi Wilson, middy Thomas Karnes, and the bosun Mr. Rigby hadn't said a word, just concentrated on placing one racqueted foot in front of the other. Singe had never been entirely sure why the captain had sent a few middies and the bosun on a mission, because reconnaissance wasn't their job. Maybe he'd been scrambled in the attic somehow.

The hike was several miles around the side of the mountain to where the Clanker hideout lay nestled in the snow, startlingly like Alek's decrepit castle in the Swiss Alps. It was covered mostly in snow, a few buildings jutting out from the drifts higher than a man's head. They crept closer still, making good time to the outer reaches of the compound. There didn't appear to be any guards posted. After all, in such a secluded area and insubstantial place that this was, who would need them? There was no use to freeze your bum watching for an enemy who would probably never come.

Except they had.

Rigby motioned for them to fan out and search around a little, so he had flattened himself to a building and slipped along the side in the relative silence; the only noise his own heartbeat and the wind pushing the snow along so that it formed little snakes that writhed on the ground. Singe peered through a window into a storage house. It was filled with wooden crates and-were those cages? They were empty, but unmistakable by the iron bars and doors with locks. He wiped frost from the window pane and took a closer look. All the crates were emblazoned with an intricate, flowing design. Singe narrowed his eyes, trying to get a better look at the somehow familiar design.

There was a flash of movement at the edge of his vision.

Singe had not been sure whether to press his face closer to the glass for a better look or to duck out of sight. He couldn't help thinking that his moment of indecision could have changed the outcome of the mission. The second before he pulled away, he'd caught a glimpse of-no. It couldn't have been. His mind was playing tricks on him.

But then every second had been burned into his mind, repeating itself in his dreams and forcing him to relive those terrible moments.

All at once a piercing whistle had echoed through the compound, followed by cries in some foreign language. He rushed back to where he'd last seen Rigby, not sure what else to do. He met up with middy Wilson, and they stared at each other with wide eyes for a moment. Singe had tried to warn him, but the man had just appeared so fast. Wilson let out a high-pitched wail as the arms of a grown man wrapped around him in a vice. He struggled, kicking and thrashing in his grasp, and just as Singe rushed forward to help, the captor cracked him over the head, and Wilson went deadly still. The man threw the boy aside like a toy and dashed toward Singe, wrenching his arm hard. There was a sickening crack as he pulled his arm away, but he was too numb to feel it just yet.

His first reaction after that was to bolt, so he did, nearly colliding with Mr. Rigby, who grasped him by the shoulders. He had a look of both desperation and defeat. "Run!" he hissed. "If you make it out alive, this won't have all been in vain!" and pushed Singe away from the camp.

He had tried not to cry when he heard the three shots behind him, but they froze on his cheeks anyway.

But today was calm. Not a single gust of wind rustled the trees, and the sun had come out brilliantly in the last half hour. Leviathan was waiting patiently over head, the foul scent of vented hydrogen trickling down. Singe held fast to his rope and grimaced only slightly at the pain in his arm. It was getting better. "Hullo, beastie!" Deryn called up to it. "Have you missed me?"

Singe chuckled, finally used to the idea of Dylan being a girl; she was still the same person, really, just different. "I think it has," he told her and she answered him by curling her lips into a crooked smile, showing a few teeth. A boy's smile, yet somehow not. He smiled back.

"Midshipman Newkirk, a pleasure to have you back on board," Captain Hobbes greeted him in the bridge as though he'd simply gone off to have tea.

"Thank you, Captain," he replied, clicking his heels together in salute. "It's a pleasure to be here."

"And Dylan Sharp! I thought I'd seen the last of you."

"Aye, sir. Quite the same here." She, too, clicked her heels.

"Mr. Hohenberg, always a delight." The captain shook Alek's hand, bouncing Borvril up and down on his shoulder. "It would seem you'll be with us for a time, so Alek, you've been assigned the same cabin as always, and Dylan will be sharing it with you."

"Pardon me, Captain," Deryn said, looking as confused as Singe felt, "but I was under the impression that-"

"Yes, and thank you, Captain Hobbes, we will move our luggage directly there," Dr. Barlow entered the room with her loris and Tazza, who was hopping like he had springs in his paws. "Dylan, Alek, please see that it gets there, and take Tazza on a walk."

"Aye, ma'am," Deryn accepted the leash and led the thylacine and Alek out of the bridge.

The captain's attention returned to Singe. "Mr. Newkirk, I trust you have many things to say in your debriefing."

"Aye, sir."

"Anything that can't wait a few more minutes?" he leaned back onto a few message lizard tubes and crossed his arms, such an uncaptainly movement that Singe blinked.

"No, sir."

"Then I believe you should be reintroduced to Mr. Fitzroy. He should be here any moment."

Singe hid a scowl. "Aye, sir." They stood in silence for Fitzroy to arrive.

When he did, he was hardly recognizable. Before he had been a scrawny boy with too much arm and leg and a scraggly tuft of hair on his chin, but now even Singe had to admit he had something going for him. His arms were corded with muscles, and his cleanly shaven jaw was what Singe figured lassies would find appealing.

And he was smiling. "Mr. Newkirk!" He sprang from the doorway and buried Singe in a hug. Singe blinked. Hard. Was Fitzroy, the pompous, insufferable Fitzroy, hugging him? He patted the other boy on the back hesitantly. "It is so good to see you again!"

"Aye," Singe agreed, not sure what the boy was trying to pull over. They'd never been friends, and that wasn't a secret. All of the middies had been rowdy, jostling boys always eager for competition, not this hugging clart. "I heard of your heroics on the Rusalka. Congratulations."

A shadow passed over his face. "It's nothing to be congratulated about. That was a tragic day, and I only did what was right for my fellows that died. Clanker scum."

"I meant congratulations on the medal." Singe amended, shocked by his sudden change in emotion.

"Oh. Thank you." Fitzroy tilted his head. "I must be taking my leave now, with your permission, Captain. I have some bats to feed."

"Dismissed, Mr. Fitzroy." Captain Hobbes said. When the boy had left, the captain turned back to Singe. "He has changed since last serving here, hasn't he?"

"Aye, sir." Singe agreed. Quite a lot.


	14. Chapter 14

Author's Note: I love saying "author's note"! But in all seriousness, you meet a new character in this chapter, as well as an old character who gives you whiplash. Be ready.

And thanks to all of you who have reviewed. Like MyNameIsAwesome on every chapter :), and Pebbutler12 who may or may not be my idol. I was honored. It would be great if I could get up to 20 reviews! *crosses fingers*

Disclaimer: I own nothing, blah, blah, blah. Scott Westerfeld owns it all.

So, without further ado, I give you chapter 14!

Deryn was busy unloading all the boffin's clothes, so Alek took their bags to the cabin they shared. It was just as small as he remembered, but now it had another cot on it, identical to his own. He slid Deryn's trunk under it and placed his on his bed. For a moment, he stared out the window, reminiscing on all that had happened since he'd first been in this room.

And then he smiled.

The door opened with a click, and he turned to see Deryn, trailed by a small boy. A midshipman, Alek realized. He was Alek's height, and almost as skinny as Deryn, with dirty blond hair and wide blue eyes. "Thank you for the help, Mr. Wilson. Unloading all her barking luggage and trying hold on to Tazza at the same time would have been bad."

"Everyone just calls me Mr. Miles, Dylan, because my brother and I have the same last name so..." his face fell. "Nevermind. Just call me Mr. Wilson," he said in a strange accent. It was both British and American.

"Alright. I'll put in a good word for you with the captain, Mr. Wilson."

His expression brightened fractionally. "Thank you." Miles saluted and trudged out into the hallway.

"He's a chatty one," Alek said drily. Deryn crouched and retrieved her suitcase from under the bed.

"Give the boy a break, Alek, Newkirk only just brought back the news his brother's dead."

"Oh." Alek bit his lip as Deryn began placing the folded clothes on a low shelf. "His brother was a midshipman also?"

"Aye. There was Miles and Levi."

"Hmm," Alek murmured, buckling the empty bag closed and kicking it under the bed.

"Dylan Sharp, we meet again," Alek looked from the ground to the boy who had just walked in. He had jet black hair and sharp features which were currently set to scowling at Deryn.

"Aye, we do," she said, her pleasant tone sounding forced only to someone who knew her well. "Life seems to have arranged itself nicely for you."

"Oh, it has," he took a threatening step toward Deryn and past Alek, his tone malicious. "And you, not even a midshipman anymore. Just a zookeeper."

Deryn's hands slowly clenched into fists, but she shook her head at Alek when he stepped to come to her aid. This was her fight with whoever this boy was.

"It's nice that we're on the same ship again at last," she said, lacing her voice with barbs. It clicked at once in Alek's mind, like the parts of a machine sliding into place. So this was Fitzroy, and Deryn was reminding him of when she'd beat him out for a place aboard the Leviathan.

Fitzroy ignored her. "And I'm sure we'll be seeing much more of each other in the future."

"Aye. We certainly will," she smiled sweetly at him. "Don't you have some flechette bats to feed or altitude drills to run, Mr. Fitzroy? I would hate to see you kicked off for a silly mistake."

His lip curled. "This isn't over, Sharp," he snarled, but withdrew from the room in a flurry, knocking into Alek's shoulder on the way. He waited until the boy was out of earshot to hiss in pain. Deryn spat out the window.

"That, my prince, was the charming Sebastian Fitzroy you've heard so much about."

"Very charming," he agreed.

"And you are very sarcastic today."

"Oh, am I?"

Deryn didn't answer that, just raised an eyebrow and shoved her suitcase under the bed.

"I'm glad to be back on the Leviathan," Alek said, completely serious, "but why exactly are we here? I'm sure it has something to do with Singe, but-"

"Don't question why the hand feeds you, Mr. Hohenberg, or it may just stop," she said, and flicked a piece of hair from his face.

"Very philosophical, Mr. Sharp," he shook his head, grinning smugly at her as a multitude of new strands fell in place of the single she'd removed.

"But I don't see the harm in doing some skulking, eh? I've still got many friends here."

Alek nodded, and they set off in different directions. Deryn was headed to talk to some riggers topside, and Alek was going to talk to the middies.

Luckily for him, they were all in the mess hall.

There were four of them, seated around the familiar round table eating the potatoes Deryn loved. There was a single empty chair, and Alek assumed that it was where Levi Wilson would've sat, so he stayed standing. Fitzroy was where the other lost midshipman would've been.

"Alek! I see you still remember where we eat," Singe said as he forked a potato into his mouth.

"Yes, I do," he replied, and crossed the room to lean against the window. "I also remember that you all are the best source of information on an airship."

Alek pretended to ignore the cold glare from Fitzroy.

"That depends what kind of information you're asking about," a boy Alek didn't know said.

"Mainly what we're doing here."

"Well, shouldn't you of all people know that?" Fitzroy drawled. "You are, in fact, the one that doesn't belong here, so you should have a reason to be."

"Quit your blethering," scolded Miles.

Fitzroy sneered, "You might learn to respect your betters, Mr. Wilson."

"You've got quite a superiority complex, haven't you?" Miles wondered aloud.

"Why shouldn't I? I'm the hero of Great Britain, after all," he waved a hand and jabbed his fork in Miles's direction, "I was off saving all your sorry bums while you were here twiddling your thumbs and letting your brother die-"

"That's enough, Mr. Fitzroy!" Singe growled, and held a hand up to stop the other boy's advance. "You have crossed the line, so I suggest you direct your anger elsewhere or I shall do it for you. Don't think I can't get you mucking up the gastric channels, Mr. Fitzroy."

Alek wasn't sure he'd ever seen the boy so in command before. When it had just been him and Deryn, he'd always followed along like a dog, and Alek just thought he was always like that. Now, though, he was completely in his element defending Miles and talking down Fitzroy.

Admitting defeat, Mr. Fitzroy stormed out just as he had with Deryn. Alek found himself thankful he was nowhere near the doorway.

"That was...pleasant." He said. Miles had taken on a blank look, his eyes filled to the brim with unshed tears. Alek patted him on the back and he flinched, shaking his head.

"I'm fine," he choked.

"Alright."

"You can sit if you want," Singe motioned to the recently vacated chair. "I suppose you still want some answers."

"Yes."

"I don't have all the information," he began, lowering his voice although there was no one around but the middies, "but we're taking on lots of extra aerial bombs. So many that we have to stop in Unst at the very tip of Britain on our way to Norway to resupply our food because there isn't enough room to bring it on now. You can guess why we're going to Norway, I think, and we'll be meeting up with two more airships in Unst for assistance."

"Do you know which two airships?"

Singe shook his head, "I don't think it's been decided yet."

Alek could feel a smile creep across his face. If Deryn still had friends aboard, then maybe he still had some influence. And it had been far too long since she'd last seen her brother.


	15. Chapter 15

The Clanker engines had been nearly at full ahead for the last day, plugging along so fast that the wind topside was marvelously vicious. She felt the fingers of the wind tangling through her hair, and she leaned into the wind, begging for more.

"Should you be doing that, Mr. Sharp?" a heavily accent voice called from behind her, more Scottish than her own lilt. "You're not even clipped into the ratlines."

She looked down to see her safety harness dangling freely in the wind, and hastily attached it to a nearby line. "Thank you. It's a fine day to be topside, isn't it, Max?"

"Aye." The rigger reclipped himself next to her and leaned forward. "I see the appeal," he yelled over the wind, spreading his fingers and leaning to either side.

She'd made friends with him doing her skulking, and though he wasn't the best source of information, he was a pleasure to talk to. He was the quiet type, really, and he thought about everything he said before saying it, like each word was a gift to be treasured.

His hydrogen sniffer snuffled along the membrane, pulling Max along a few feet before he got control of it, "Whoa, there, Zipper! Take it easy..."

"Zipper?" Deryn tilted her head. "What happened to not naming the beasties?"

He faltered, "I'd already gotten attached to the lass, so there's no harm in giving her a name after that," Max said carefully, reaching down to pat the sniffer on her snouts. "And haven't you named that mole you carry around?"

Deryn's eyebrows came together. "It's a perspicacious loris, Max, and I wasn't the one that named it. Some daft anarchist lassie did."

"Oh, I see," he chuckled lightly.

"What's so funny?" Deryn asked.

"Me and my little sister have a joke we like to tell each other; 'I see!' said the blind man, and he picked up a hammer and saw."

She took a moment to process the words, and when she did she let her lips curl into a smile. "Very clever."

"Aye, Mr. Sharp. If you would still like to hear it, I've got some things to tell you."

She nodded.

"That Mr. Fitzroy likes message lizards," he said simply, pointing to the midshipman who was meandering around a few hundred yards away.

"Is that all?" she followed him away from the bow so the wind was at their backs. He gave her a rascally grin to show he'd been playing.

"Really, though, from what I've seen, he spends more time with them than people."

Deryn snorted. "Either way, that doesn't surprise me."

Max nodded sadly, "He's a piece of work, en't he?"

"Aye."

"One more thing, Mr. Sharp," he said slowly, eyes darted back and forth, making sure no one was around to hear. "All the ships that were attacked by the zeppelins have something in common." His voice lowered so that it was barely audible over the wind. "All of them had midshipman that had been on duty less than a month."

A cold finger traced its way down her spine. "Spies."

"I en't saying it's true." Max shrugged. "I'm just saying it could be."

The rigger said goodbye to her, his words torn away by the wind as he was pulled along by Zipper. She waved half-heartedly at his back and turned to climb down the ratlines and find Alek to tell him the news. According to Newkirk, Miles and his brother had only become midshipman a few weeks prior, which raised a few questions. From the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of Fitzroy snatching a message lizard from the airship's skin, looking it in the face. Just as she was lowering herself down the ratlines, she saw him hurl it off the side of the ship.

She blinked a few times, trying to process what she'd just seen.

Aye, Deryn thought sardonically, he likes message lizards indeed.


	16. Chapter 16

If there had been one thing he hadn't missed about being a middy it was the godless flechette bats.

They twirled around him in swarms, and every time their wings brushed against him, he shuddered. Singe was glad Deryn wasn't doing middy's duties again so she could be here to taunt him, and Fitzroy was off doing some altitude drills. Mr. Thompson had been left behind in France to compensate for added weight.

It was just him and Mr. Wilson, who was very quiet and kept to himself without his brother. Singe's fist closed on a handful of figs, careful to avoid any protruding spikes, and he flung them as far from himself as he could. A new bosun had yet to be hired, so Singe had become the involuntary leader of the midshipman. Wilson accepted his command without complaint, quite unlike a normal teenage boy under normal circumstances, but these weren't normal times in any manner of the word

Singe took a deep breath and reached into his bag for the last of the figs. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Wilson."

The boy blinked at him a few times, and nodded. "We are still at war, Mr. Newkirk, no matter how close we may be to the end. War has its costs..." he trailed off and blinked a few more times, his face resuming an expression of stone. He threw one last fig and straightened his uniform. "Finished."

"There was nothing I could do, Miles, and he died in a valiant way."

Miles caught Singe's gaze and held it was a cold certainty, but his voice shook when he spoke, "There is nothing valiant about death, Mr. Newkirk. And I should not like to talk about it. Please. It haunts my mind enough as it is without having to say the words out loud."

The tears shined in his eyes, but his mouth was curled in anger. At what, Singe couldn't tell. "Aye, Mr. Wilson. I'm sorry for bringing it up."

He didn't respond, instead hooking his legs in the ratlines and beginning to climb. Singe followed suit, and his arm was burning in pain and he was panting by the time they made it topside. "At this rate," he mused, feeling the wind strong at his back, "We'll be in Unst before sunset."

They made their way to the tail to meet up with the other midshipman. "How high up are we?" Singe asked.

"Four thousand feet. We've dropped five hundred in the last two hours," Fitzroy replied stiffly.

"We're nearing Unst, and so we're losing altitude gradually to avoid venting loads of hydrogen in one place, see?"

The middy brushed his hands on his uniform. "How far out are we?"

"The engines are at full ahead now, so I don't think it will be more than a few hours. We'll be called to prepare for landing soon. Fitzroy, you'll glide to the ground and command the landing crews, and Wilson and I will stay here and cover anything that comes up from the ship."

Singe ignored Fitzroy as he muttered something about laziness. At least he hadn't refused outright, Singe reminded himself, which was an improvement.

Just as he'd thought, the crew began to prepare for docking within a few hours. Fitzroy was sent to the gut of the ship to ready a huxley, Miles had been sent to help the riggers topside, and Singe was told to check on the passengers, and while this was a ridiculous task, he did so without protest.

The lady boffin was in the deck with the captain, so he didn't bother with her.

Deryn and Alek, of course, were already aware of their landing and had planned accordingly. They were watching out the windows of the middy's mess, craning their necks for a glimpse of anything exciting.

"You'll hardly see anything from in here, boys," he said from behind them, and Alek jolted at the sound, the loris on his shoulder babbling some German blether. "How would you fancy the view from topside?"

Deryn was already past him on her way out the door, "I thought you'd never ask, Mr. Newkirk! Do you think the riggers would mind if I borrowed a flight suit?"

Singe rolled his eyes and Alek sighed as they fell in line behind the girl. "I'm sure they wouldn't, Dylan," he paused for a moment, "Did you hear which ships we're meeting in Unst?"

"No," the girl said over her shoulder, "Did you?"

"Aye. We'll be meeting the Sorley and the Minotaur."

She tripped on her own feet and stumbled to a halt. "You mean the Minotaur my barking-cousin-is serving on?"

Alek was trying to hide a grin. "The very same. Captain Hobbes and I are good friends and he was happy to do me a favor. I did, after all, save the ship more than once."

Deryn smothered the former prince in a hug, knocking him back a few steps. Singe looked around to make sure no one had seen the unmanly gesture of affection, but they were all busy with their landing duties.

"All I get is a hug?" Alek was looking properly disappointed.

"Well, I'm not going to barking kiss you with Newkirk here to see," she said, her cheeks flushing as she punched him in the shoulder. "Maybe later."

Singe tried to push thoughts of what that could mean out of his mind and found a discarded flight suit to put on, hoping there were gloves in the pockets.

Deryn was in hers twice as fast as Singe, but Alek was having trouble. "I've got it," he assured them, but when it became clear that he didn't, Deryn shook her head at said a few curses but helped him anyway. "Thanks," he told her defeatedly.

"Daft princes," Bovril began cackling from his shoulder. "No good deed goes unpunished."

Deryn raised an eyebrow and patted its head. "Now you've got it spouting poetic blether, Mr. Hohenberg."

"Come along, or you'll miss the whole landing!" Singe cut in, leading them up the ratlines and to the bow of the ship.

The Sorley and the Minotaur would be coming from the north, having just been in Iceland, so they would get the first glimpses of the ship on the horizon from the great whale's head. Mr. Wilson met up with them, and Deryn gave his back a long, hard look and bit her lip.

Deryn didn't even try to hide the broad grin that stretched from ear to ear on her face. The four of them stood in a row, the wind grabbing hold of their hair and flinging it in all directions, even the loris's, who began to make small crackling and hissing noises.

The ships appeared suddenly, dots growing larger by the second. The sunset framed them from the back, a deep, blood red that seemed to consume them.

The sun didn't set in the north.

"Oh, my God!" Miles yelled, voice up at least an octave. He stumbled back, gasping, "They're on fire!"

In less than a second, Deryn's and Alek's eyes were as wide as Wilson's. Singe's gaze stayed locked on the burning ships as it rose in the heat of flame, but began to slowly dip toward the ocean. He'd been there before, burning, knowing that there would be no escape from the flames that licked your hair and arms, but for him there had been a bucket of ballast and a brave midshipman ready to save him.

For those men, there was nothing but the flames around them and the sea so far below that it would be as hard as stone. No one to save them from certain death.

Deryn was yelling at anything and everything, but Singe didn't hear her. He was too entranced by the two shapes of bright orange that fell in slow motion. From where he stood, it looked almost peaceful, like a feather.

Miles helped Alek hold the hysterical Deryn Sharp, who had tears falling down her face. When she gave up struggling, she collapsed to the ground in a destroyed heap, and whispered two words, raw with pain and terror, "He's dead."


	17. Chapter 17

The entire ship was in a state of shock.

Not all for the same reasons, of course. In general, there was the loss of two airships-over eighty men in all, plus the beasts, including the great whales themselves. After that came the guilty shock of the fact that the Leviathan was untouched, every one alive. The zeppelin responsible had been too far away to harm the great whale.

Then there was Deryn Sharp.

She'd denied it as long as possible, but when rescue teams had gone out for survivors and found only two badly wounded riggers alive, she had moved on to a terrible anger. There wasn't really one thing-or person-in particular that she was mad at, but there was certainly one that had accumulated more than his share, and for more than one reason.

Alek was avoiding her.

For good reason, too. So she avoided him. The Leviathan was a big airship and it was easy to find things to do that kept her away from him. The flechette bats always needed fed or the strafing hawks reharnessed, and she even went up in a huxley for a few hours. It was nice to blow off some steam and curse loudly with no one around to hear.

The dummkopf.

Everything was a barking wreck, and there was nothing Deryn could do to control it. Events were spiraling from her grasp like a Clanker aeroplane felled by an aerie of strafing hawks. Breaking apart and tumbling to the dark ground below in a million pieces of Deryn Sharp.

She pulled her hand out of the bag of grain and strung it around the bats' nests. Miles and Deryn were up in the higher of the nesting coves, at the tip of the nose, with Newkirk and Fitrzroy below. The boy wasn't helping much, just staring vacantly like a pile of sod at the stretch of land that was spread out below them, hands twined around his head. His fingers tapped his hair, a twitch of indecision.

"Oi! Just because you've got me here doesn't mean you don't have to work, Wilson!" She growled. This boy was being barking suspicious. Against her will, Deryn was beginning to believe that he could be a spy. His accent wasn't quite British, and his speech always sounded forced, like it was a foreign thing that took thought to do, and no boy was as barking quiet as him.

He didn't answer her.

Deryn took a few steps toward him, "Did you barking hear what I said, you bum rag? You've got a bag, so get to work!" Her voice sounded harsh to her own ears, but she didn't care. What right did this boy have to sulk around?

The boy was still standing at the edge of the nesting cove, still staring down at the water. Deryn was about to tell him to get moving again when she recognized the look in his eyes, and her heart beat went into overdrive, pulsing all thoughts of spies from her mind.

"Don't do it, Miles," she said warningly.

His face stayed impassive. "Why shouldn't I? My brother is dead, and he was all I had to live for."

"No. That's not true, Miles. You have more things to live for than you think. More people living for you. If you jump, you'll ruin everything you have." Deryn said in a calming voice, trying to talk the boy down from the ledge.

He whirled on her, the tears glinting in his eyes belying the rage in the rest of his face. "Don't tell me what I have, Mr. Sharp. You know nothing of what I've lost!"

She laughed coldly. "Don't I? My brother died yesterday on one of those ships, Miles!" The sting of tears was blurring her vision now. Miles's face became a blurry frown. "And I lost my father years ago! I've been where you are, Miles, and I know what a load of clart it is! I'm there now, too, but I know it gets better!"

"You still don't get it!" his voice broke. Big drops of water streamed down his face, and he made no move to wipe it away. "No one does, and no one ever will! Unless.." he trailed off, taking a long look at the water. Deryn's blood pounded in her ears and her hands shook with adrenaline. This boy wouldn't jump, not if she could help it. He spoke quietly, in a soft, high voice. "Someone should know."

"What? Miles, don't do it."

The boy edged away from her and perched his toes on the ledge. He was almost smiling now. "You see, Dylan," he said, "I'm a girl."

And jumped.

Deryn didn't hesitate to react. She lunged for him and one hand clenched around the belt of the flight suit, the other wrapping itself on a ratline. Her muscles screamed as she was pulled in two, the rope digging into her gloved hand. Scrabbling for purchase with her feet, she clambered to a crouch and began to pull Miles up.

"No! Let go of me!" the girl shouted, trying to punch Deryn's arm without success. Deryn tangled her boots in a rope and freed her other hand to take hold of the scruff of Mile's flight suit. With a heave, she pulled Miles up the side so they were in a heap next to each other. Their legs hung off the side, and she kept a firm grip on the other girl in case she tried again.

Miles swatted at her hand. "Let go! I'm not going to jump anymore, alright?" She struggled to her feet with Deryn's hand still on her belt.

"Go to the back of the cove and have a seat, then, and we'll talk," Deryn replied warily, poised to stop the girl if she made another attempt to jump and always staying between her and the open air.

"Did you hear the..." the girl asked defeatedly, searching Deryn's face. She nodded, and Miles's expression fell. "You're going to tell, aren't you?"

Deryn shook her head, laughter bubbling up into her throat.

"Then what are you going to do to me, Dylan?" Her eyes widened. "Please don't..."

"You are one lucky girl, Miles," Deryn said, gaining a certain pleasure from the terror on the girl's face.

"Wh-why?" Miles was cowering back into the corner, pleading silently up at Deryn.

"Because," Deryn started, smiling slightly, "I'm going to trade secrets with you. What's your real name?"

"What?" she asked incredulously.

"I doubt it's really Miles."

"No, what did you say before that?"

Deryn waved a hand. "I'll trade secrets with you, for the price of your name."

Miles traced a circle with a gloved finger on her thigh, deep in thought. "I-I'm Melissa. Melissa Wilson." She bit her lip.

Deryn smiled and held out her hand, speaking in her normal voice. "Nice to meet you, Melissa Wilson. I'm Deryn Sharp."

"I know who you are, Dylan," she didn't take Deryn's hand.

"No, you weren't listening. I'm Deryn Sharp," she emphasized her words by propelling her hand a little closer. Melissa took it reluctantly, and Deryn pulled her to her feet. "I'm a girl, too," she whispered into Melissa's ear.

The other girl jerked back, wounded. "I don't believe you."

Deryn moaned. "Don't make me barking prove it."

"How else could I know you're not feeding me a load of lies?" Melissa challenged.

"Well," Deryn said slowly, "What if I give you my razor and don't shave for a week? If I were a boy, I'd have a beard by then."

"Too long."

Deryn cursed and hastily unzipped her flight suit, unbuttoning her shirt just enough so Melissa could see her careful tailoring. "Is that barking good enough for you?"

She nodded sharply as Deryn zipped herself back up. "Yes." Melissa then showed Deryn her own bound chest, and the girls silently agreed to keep the other's secret. "It's nice to meet you, too, Deryn Sharp."

"Aye, it certainly is," Deryn pursed her lips, the weight of a question pressing them together. "What about your brother... was Levi a girl, too?"

Melissa nodded solemnly. "It was her idea to come here and join the service. We were supposed to be going to boarding school in London, but Mom's all the way home in New York, so she couldn't stop us if she wanted to."

Deryn snorted. "Of course you're a barking American lass!" she started to throw her hands up in mock exasperation, but stopped as a thought came to mind. "You're not a Clanker spy, then, are you?"

"Excuse me? Of course I'm not a spy!"

"Aye, I suppose not," Deryn said, remembering how she'd always thought that women who tangled with foreign affairs or "men's jobs" were spies, but that was before she became one herself.

The shriek of a whistle called the two of them back down to the other midshipman, stirring up the bats, and Deryn's moment of happiness was broken.

Her shoulders fell, and her boots dragged on the membrane.

Her brother was still dead, after all.


	18. Chapter 18

Alek leaned out his window for a better look at Deryn as she climbed up the ratlines. The uninviting land of Unst sat below him, but he was accustomed to ignoring what was below him by now. Her name tickled the back of his throat as he was about to call to her, his thoughts heavy with guilt.

When he opened his mouth, someone else spoke, "Aleksandar, you are requested at the bridge," The message lizard spoke in the captain's voice.

"I'll be there right away, sir. End message." The message lizard scrambled away. With one last look at Deryn as she climbed nimbly around with the other middies, hardly favoring her bad leg at all, he leaned back into his cabin, slung Bovril onto his shoulder, and left for the bridge.

Several of the ship's officers were there, including the head boffin, Dr. Busk, Dr. Barlow, and the captain, as well as a man that Alek didn't recognize.

When he spoke, there was an unmistakable French accent laced in his irritated voice, "This is the boy, yes? We can begin now?" The man splayed his palms and leaned his weight on to the map table. There was a look about him that said he had not slept last night, which gave Alek a pang of sympathy; he hadn't either. He was listening to Deryn's deep breathing as she slept, clenching his fists when she awoke from a nightmare but was too proud to ask for his comfort.

"Mr. Hohenberg," the lady boffin said, "This is Dr. Horn, our new strategist. He planned our invasion of the Kjolen mountains, but I'm afraid-"

"Yes, and I planned for three ships, not one! It is all ruined!" Dr. Horn cried, clearly distressed. His knuckles had turned white where he was clamping them on the table.

Dr. Busk cast a helpless look to the captain, who worked his jaw in response.

"Pardon me, sirs, Dr. Barlow," Alek began, "but what was the plan?"

The strategist glared at him wearily, making Alek feel like a waste of hydrogen. "You have heard of a gorgon, yes?"

Alek shook his head politely, eyebrows drawn together.

"Then I start at the beginning. The gorgon is an experimental fabrication, much like the Russian fighting bear, but much better. It is a bear that has life of rhinoceros and elephant for strength and shellfish for hard skull to ram things. Unfortunately, it has many bad senses, and searchlights and whistles do not work to direct it. So it has a companion creature called skata, with life of ape for intelligence, bat for flight, and skunk for smell. You understand, yes?"

He nodded, "So the skata directs the gorgon with smells."

"Yes," Dr. Barlow said before the ruffled strategist could reply, "It can spray in two different ways; a concentrated spray the repels the gorgon, making it go in the opposite direction, and a mist that attracts it. The skata can easily understand a command whistle, so we tell the gorgon what to do through the skata. An ingenious chain, really."

"We attack fortress with gorgon," Dr. Horn said simply in his chopped English. A hand ran through his graying hair. "One airship carries bear and gives supplies to other ships to cancel for weight."

"You were going to carry a bear the size of a house across the North Sea?" Alek asked in astonishment, holding back a snort at the thought of a giant bear hanging beneath an airbeast and looking decidedly unpleased about it.

"Yes!" Dr. Horn cried. "Now we can not attack fortress, not without a gorgon! It is all ruined."

Alek, despite himself, felt very sorry for the man. "Surely there is a way that the mission can be salvaged..."

"We've sent word to the Admirality," Captain Hobbes sighed, "but it would seem that we have been given three choices on the matter."

"We could attack the zeppelins without proof that they're responsible," Dr. Barlow said, "but if they aren't, we could be responsible for reigniting the Great War, and viewed badly by the world."

Alek cursed. "We know they did it!" he yelled. "We'll find our proof if we attack them!"

"But that raises the question," Dr. Barlow continued, "that if we attack the zeppelins, they could use their weapon against us."

"The only thing we know about it so far is its name from tapping into wireless signals sent between the Clanker powers," Dr. Busk said. "Orion Omega."

"Omega? Doesn't that mean that it is-" he translated quickly "-last?"

"Most likely the final development of the machine," the captain replied. "As of yet, our scientists have not been able to gain any information from the Orion that Mr. Fitzroy captured. As far as we can tell, there is something at the core, vital to the machine and finding out how to stop it, but there are many defenses around it that we can't yet breach."

Pursing his lips, Alek asked the lady boffin, "So what are our other options?"

"We could try to devise a new plan in our current situation, or abandon the mission altogether."

"None of them have a high chance of success," Dr. Busk said defeatedly.

Alek stared at the maps on the table, chewing his lip just as Deryn did, "Whatever the Admirality says, I believe that we should find a way to continue the mission. I just think that it is important," he said. Providence was guiding him to those mountains; he could feel the pull of them, just like in Istanbul when he was meant to aid the revolution. It was a static electricity in his stomach, prickling along his skin like a tesla cannon when he thought about it.

Dr. Barlow raised a thin eyebrow at him from under her bowler. He cursed silently. Here he was, trying to sound adult and useful, and he ended up saying he felt like something was important. Maybe he was a waste of hydrogen after all. "Well," he said, trying to salvage his dignity, "Is there a way to use what we already have, but in a different way?"

The strategist's lip curled. "You ask me to bake a cake with no flour!" He pounded a fist on the table, making the maps rustle, "It cannot be done!"

"Clearly we all need to take a break," said the captain calmly, "We'll meet again later; after we receive word from the Admirality."

"Yes." Dr. Horn walked briskly from the room, his boots clicking on the fabricated wood floor as he went.

"French," Dr. Busk shook his head and turned on his heel to leave. Dr. Barlow lightly took hold of Alek's shoulder and led him into the hallway, her loris crawling down her arm to speak with Bovril.

Alek was quite alarmed when they began a comprehensible conversation; "Hullo, good sir," Dr. Barlow's loris said in its haughty tone.

"Why, hello there," Bovril replied.

"You have heard of a skata?"

"Yes," the loris said gravely, "they spray smells."

"Gas!" the other loris cried. "Use what we have in a different way."

Dr. Barlow snapped for her loris to crawl back up to her shoulder, her head tilted in thought. Alek was thinking, too. "Why was I part of that meeting and not Dylan?"

"Dylan is partial to the situation; his opinions would be rash and biased," Dr. Barlow shrugged her slight shoulders. "And suffering from grief at the loss of his cousin as he is, he needs time to recover."

"Oh."

The lady boffin slipped around the corner, passing Singe on the way by. Alek brightened at the sight of him. "Singe!" he called, but just as the boy turned to look at him, Deryn appeared behind him. The words caught in his throat, choking him into saying, "Uh-nice-um-tie."

Bovril leapt from his shoulder, landing lithe as a cat on the ground, and rushed to Deryn, swarming up her leg and torso to her shoulder, where he perched with a look of contentment. The traitor.

She shot him a murderous glare that made his skin crawl.

I'm sorry, he wanted to say, but didn't.


	19. Chapter 19

This was perhaps the most awkward silence that Singe had ever witnessed. "I-I'm not wearing a tie," he said to Alek, not able to look at embarrassment that colored the boy's cheeks.

"Oh, well then."

Deryn didn't bother to say hello to Alek. "I'm not important enough to include in your meetings, then? That's just barking lovely," she snorted. "I'll see you at mess, Mr. Newkirk." Deryn turned harshly on her heel and walked back in the way they came.

Alek watched longingly after her, his mouth slightly open. He didn't say anything, just nodded to Singe and ambled slowly down the hallway, in the direction opposite Deryn.

Not sure what to do, Singe stood alone in the corridor, lost in thought. The world seemed to be falling apart around him, and Singe was stuck in the middle. He'd just got Dylan and Alek back, his closest friends, and now it was all turned upside down because Dylan was a girl, and she and Alek were something... or had been something. They were avoiding each other because Alek thought Jaspert's death was his fault, and Deryn was letting him believe it. Maybe she believed it, too. If only Singe could tell her that it had been an act of love, and that it wasn't Alek's fault that the barking stupid Clankers had gone and ruined it.

It really was all their fault. They were losing the war, and they weren't about to do it quietly. From what Singe could tell, they were going to cause the Darwinists as much pain as they could, and that included ruining the British Air Service. It shook England to its core, and even the ships that hadn't been attacked were jumpy and unstable, waiting until it was their turn to be a helpless target.

Singe could even hear the yelling in the bridge, behind the closed door.

But the yelling sounded... excited. He was contemplating whether or not to press his ear to the fabricated wood of the door when a man stormed out. He had a dark gray mustache that curled up at the ends like a smug grin, and at the moment it was jumping wildly on the man's face as he shouted some words in French. He started when he saw Singe standing against the wall, bewildered.

"Hello, sir," Singe said, and clicked his heels. "If I may ask, sir, what's going on?"

The man could hardly stand still; he was shifting his weight from foot to foot, a broad grin pasted crookedly on his face. When he looked at Singe, he took him by the shoulders and told him, "As you English say: We are back in business, boy!"

Singe hesitated. He still didn't know what was happening, but it would be rude to ask again. The French man let go of Singe's shoulders, the same giddy smile on his mouth. "We go to top of ship, now! Captain will tell you all!"

As he said that, the all-hands signal sounded, and Singe bade the man farewell and climbed out onto the ratlines, hurriedly making his way topside.

He was joined by many airmen, and soon the ratlines were sagging with the weight of so many men-and one woman. Deryn spotted Singe and made her way toward him in no time. She was still scowling. Singe said hello to her weakly, and she forced a smile in return.

The ship was still around them; not even the hum of the engines could be felt in Singe's fingertips because they were docked. Deryn was always saying how you could feel the beast moving and everything going on around them through the membrane, but he'd never felt it.

"You know what we're up here for?" he asked once they'd made it topside.

"No. Seeing as I'm not barking important enough to tell things to," Deryn spat. Grimacing, Singe kept silent after that, not wanting to draw another biting remark from her. Everyone was gathering at the center of the spine, so as not to upset the ship's balance, and the captain was standing in the middle of them all, a small circle cleared around him. Singe searched the crowd, but he couldn't find Alek. Maybe he already knows what's going on, he thought bitterly, despite himself. He was angry on Deryn's behalf; she was part of the Society now, so she should be included.

The two of them were near the back, so most of the captains words were torn away, even though there was hardly any wind. He got the gist though; the mission was back on. Orders would be sent out, and all men were to follow them immediately, no questions asked. Though there was some grumbling from the men around him, they obeyed. Orders were orders, after all.

The sun was slowly sagging on the horizon, growing dimmer by the minute.

It was going to be a long night.


	20. Chapter 20

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed! I'm finally over thirty reviews now, and you guys give me great tips. Thank you again! Your reward is the big two-oh chapter... I present to you...*cues epic music*...Chapter 20! *bows* LOL, hope you enjoy this.

"Oi! To the right a bit!" Max yelled, and Deryn and the other airman helping her load up the crate shuffled a few paces, setting the box down once they got a nod from Max. "Good. Matthews, help Rogers get his box right on top of that one. Sharp, help me with this one."

"Aye," Deryn said, "On the count of three? One, two, three-"

She stifled a groan as she hefted up the crate, the two of them making their way to the Roth Aerial Battle Turtle.

The thing didn't look like a turtle, really, but it certainly didn't look like anything else. It had thick, leathery legs that jutted out the bottom of the beastie, which were currently tied down to keep it from floating away, and a slow moving head with a hard skull and large, wide eyes. The shell was and inch thick around the membrane and, sure enough, made of keratin that was a pale yellow color and ten feet across. It wasn't quite opaque, so she could just barely see the membrane through it, and it wasn't fully expanded yet; there was space between the membrane and shell, which made a hollow noise whenever Deryn heaved a box onto it's back. When it was, she supposed, it would press up against the shell. There was a place to mount a single gun, and not just an air gun either. With the extra protection lent by the shell, it was safe to fire a real gun if you were far enough from the airbeast itself.

It looked unsettlingly like the clockwork bed that the anarchist Nene rode on. For a brief moment, Deryn wondered how Nene was doing, if the revolution had treated her nicely, and who was taking care of her now that Lilit was an ambassador and Zaven was dead.

Deryn rolled her shoulders, shook the thoughts from her head, and set the box down. This was no time to be reminiscing like some poor village sap, she thought, not while they were preparing for...

For what, exactly?

"We can't slow down now, Mr. Sharp," Max said, snapping her out of thought, "There's only a few of 'em left!"

The man was much too jolly for being awake this late at night. "What's got you in such a good mood, Max?" She asked, having seen him smile even as they were straining to hold the crate.

He patted the turtle on the head. "This here's my turtle," he said happily. "The can't take on any more men on account a' the weight, so I'm going to be piloting her."

Deryn nodded.

"I just hope she and Zipper get along," he added as an afterthought, wiping his gloves on his flight suit. "It wouldn't do for them not to." He smiled mischievously at her, and she found herself grinning back. Leave it to Max to worry if his beasties would like each other, she thought.

"You know what we're here for?" She asked suddenly. "What the plan is?"

"I haven't the faintest idea," he replied brightly. "No, lads! They've got to be even or they'll fall off!" Deryn looked over her shoulder to see another pair of men with a box set crookedly on one of the other three turtles, startled. "But, Mr. Sharp, it's got to do with whatever we were supposed to be doing before, I'm sure. Just look at all these bombs and tell me it isn't going to be something big. And I'll be in the thick of it!" He pumped a fist through the air and knelt to look the Roth Aerial Battle Turtle in the eyes. "So will you, beastie. Let's just hope that it won't last long, eh?" He hesitated, a look of apprehension crossing his face. "You need a name now, don't you? Any suggestions, Mr. Sharp?"

"Ah, no, Max," Deryn shook her head, smiling, and made her way to the last of the crates. Max followed, and she was glad for his help. The boxes were too barking heavy for one wee slip of a lass to carry on her own, and Max's brute rigger's strength compensated for it. "Do you at least know what's in the boxes, then?"

"Aside from the bombs, no, and only because they're so obvious All I get to do is load them up and then take them off once we get back up to the ship. It's all been very secretive. I think I know why, though. You remember what I told you?"

"Aye," Deryn said. "But Miles can't be a spy."

Max cocked an eyebrow. "And why is that, Mr. Sharp?"

Deryn realized her mistake too late. She fumbled for an answer, and finally one came. It was always easier to tell part of the truth than an entire lie. "Because he's an American, and they're on our side."

He scowled. "American? He can't be. The Service doesn't let foreigners in. That's why it's called the British Air Service, Mr. Sharp."

"Oh, aye," Deryn said, biting her lip. Why would Melissa have lied to her about where she came from? It seemed an odd thing to say, really, but there wasn't time to think about that now. It was darker here, right under the ship, than out in the moonlight. The only light came from the glow worm lamps strewn about the field, and they cast a ghastly angle on everything, making it all so severe. Even Max's chipper face look sinister.

Or maybe Deryn was just that tired.

She yawned long and hard as the men climbed onto the turtles, untying their legs and ascending to the cargo bay. Hopefully a tired midshipman could get a few hours of sleep once all this hurried loading business was done with. Her jaw clamped down on her tongue mid-yawn as she realized she wasn't a midshipman anymore; Deryn was an agent of the Zoological Society of London now. By all rights she could be asleep in her cabin right now, not fighting to keep her eyes open and lugging about heavy boxes. Somehow, though, Deryn couldn't imagine herself in her cot, as snuggly as a box of kittens in her blankets.

The turtle jolted under her feet and Deryn felt herself reaching for a box to steady herself with. Max rested an elbow on one as he steered the motivator engine on the turtle's back up toward the cargo bay. The open hatch seemed to be yawning as large as all of them. Deryn sighed.

The night was far from over.


	21. Chapter 21

A/N: I would like to take a moment to thank all of you who made it possible for me to have 35 reviews. Thank you. Your reward is chapter 21. I'm not going to lie; I love this chapter, personally, and I hope you feel the same way. It's long-ish, too, so you've got lots to... mull over when you're done. And to review about! (Hint, hint) Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I am not Scott Westerfeld or his publishing company or whatever, so I don't own any of this, which sucks for me, but I'll take what I can get... which is nothing...

For no apparent reason, the ship had started moving again.

Not the ship itself, of course, but the people on it. After retiring to his stateroom the night before, Alek had been determined to stay awake until Deryn returned. But exhaustion had taken over, and he fell asleep with his boots still on.

Now, as Alek shook the sleep from his eyes and stepped into the corridor, a team of riggers stumbled past and nearly knocked him from his feet. They apologized to him tiredly, envy coloring their expressions. In his surprise, Alek forgot to ask what they were doing down in the gondola. Normally riggers spent their time topside in the ratlines.

He made his way toward the bow of the ship, watching out for any more crewmen on his way. A slight snuffling noise caught his attention, and he turned to find the lady boffin just behind, led by Tazza. It made him start a bit to see Dr. Barlow walking Tazza herself.

The thylacine whined in greeting, and Alek reached down to pet his head absently. His attention was caught by the lady boffin who, despite looking as refined as ever, seemed disheveled somehow.

"Dr. Barlow, what is going on?" He asked.

"What isn't going on would be a more appropriate question, I'm sure." She sighed. "Dr. Horn has come up with a solution to our problem. He's been in a flurry since last evening, overcome by an epiphany. The man does not understand the concept of patience or sleep."

"A solution?"

"Yes," Dr. Barlow paused, letting the lorises climb to the ceiling and hang there chattering for a moment before continuing to speak. "Your suggestion was quite inspiring, it would seem-"

"My what?" Alek hardly believed he could have been helpful, much less inspiring. The Darwinists still thought of him as a waste of hydrogen sometimes.

"-As I was trying to say, Aleksandar, your suggestion to use something we already have in a different way proved to be advantageous. Do you remember Dr. Horn's mention of a skata?"

Alek bit his lip. "Yes. That was the skunk, wasn't it? It guides the...gorgon."

"To put it simply. With the help of a perspicacious friend, we're back on track. The crew has been working all night to prepare, and we'll be departing for the mountains within the hour."

"Excuse me, Ma'am, but prepare for what? What even is the new plan, exactly?"

The ship was still in a commotion around them as the lady boffin began to explain what was happening. Alek hissed as an airman ran into his shoulder, which was still far from healed.

Strange, he noticed, how none of them seemed to run into Dr. Barlow.

"Have you ever smelled a skunk, Aleksandar?"

"Certainly not."

"Well, in any case, it is not pleasant. While many people have had the experience of encountering a natural skunk, very few have ever met a skata, which has a very different scent. It is somewhat akin to that of poisonous gas, although a scarcely known fact is that it is quite harmless. A hidden base in the mountains would undoubtedly be unaware of that."

She raised her eyebrows, waiting for Alek to understand. He shook his head, and the lady boffin sighed. "Poisonous gas is often used on the battlefield, and surely Clankers would know what it smells like, and after so long in the cold mountains they would be... jumpy, especially after our reconnaissance mission alerted them of us."

Alek held up a hand. "What are you implying, Doctor? That we trick the Clankers into believing we have poisonous gas at our disposal?"

"Partly," the lady boffin smiled grimly, "The buildings in the complex are very sturdy, from what Mr. Newkirk has told us, and most likely resistant to aerial bombs. They are not, however, gas-proof. We will send the skata down to their base first, and will-ah-smoke out the rat, you could say. The people will escape the confined buildings to look for fresh, gas free air, and that is when we bomb them."

Alek took a step back, tripping over his own feet. To bomb a group of men while they were under cover was one thing, but to lure them out, defenseless, and then drop bombs was another entirely. It was downright cruel. He tried to speak, but no words would come out of his throat. He was too stunned.

"Once that is done, several teams of men will collect evidence on the ground. The Admiralty requests it."

"I-I don't know what to say, Dr. Barlow."

"A rare occurrence," she sighed. "I know it is a lot to take in, Mr. Hohenberg."

He blinked a few times, staring at his boots. "Wh-what does Dylan think?"

Tazza nuzzled the lady boffin's hand as she spoke, "Dylan seems fine with the idea. He has been working with the crew all night, and even requested to be part of the ground crew. He's in the cargo bay as we speak."

"The ground crew? Does-he-realize how dangerous that is?" Alek clenched and unclenched his fists in surprise.

"It will hardly be dangerous." Dr. Barlow held his gaze. It was silent for a moment but for the lorises blabbering.

Alek clenched his jaw, nodding. "Certainly, Dr. Barlow. Well, good day, then. I suppose I'll see you later."

"Good day, Aleksandar."

He could feel Dr. Barlow's eyes on him as he walked down the corridor, but he didn't care. Recalling the rough memories of the airship's layout, Alek made his way to the cargo bay, footsteps echoing solemnly in the thin hallways. He needed to find Deryn, talk her out of this. It was insane, and she was going to...

The cargo bay was more crowded than he'd ever seen it. He craned his neck and stood on his toes to try and get a glimpse of her blond head over the masses of crewmen. Why must all British be so tall? he thought. Shaking his head, Alek gave up trying to see her and began to push his way through the crowd, stopping only when he saw a most horrific creature; a turtle of some sort, but it was massive and grotesque.

Pulling his eyes away from the beast, Alek finally saw her, untying knots on the far side of the turtle. He rushed around the thing, careful to avoid its eyes. Bovril climbed off of his shoulder and onto its head, posing there with it's head high and arms at it's sides.

"Dylan," he hissed, "could you spare a moment please?"

"What? I'm kind of busy, Alek, and I haven't got a barking wink of sleep all night. So no, I don't think I can spare a moment." She hunched back over untying the knots that held numerous crates to one of the turtle's backs.

"Dylan." She ignored him. Trying a different tactic, he turned to the man who seemed to be in charge and said, "Dr. Barlow needs to speak with Dylan."

"Why didn't she just send a message lizard?" the man asked in a thick Scottish accent.

"I'm quite certain I have no idea," he shrugged. "But I find it a good idea to not question the lady boffin."

"Alright. Have 'im back soon, then. We've got lots of work still to do."

Deryn glowered, but followed him anyway. When they happened upon an empty hallway, Alek pulled her into it quickly. Every few moments, she glanced about to make sure no one was watching them. "Deryn," Alek began, to get her attention.

"What?" She spat.

"I broke my promise. I-I've been keeping a secret. From you."

Deryn raised her eyebrows and gave him a disapproving look, like she'd known this.

"It's just-Deryn, I can't be away from you like this. I can't function without you, not anymore."

"You seemed to be doing just fine to me," she said, not meeting his eyes. He studied her intently for a moment, noticing the dark circles around her eyes, the way they were rimmed with red. She stood hunched, almost, like she'd just been punched in the stomach but was trying to look unhurt. She looked so torn and empty. In that instant, there was nothing more Alek wanted to do than pull her in close and whisper to her that it was all going to be okay. He wanted to tell her everything that words couldn't say, and he just wanted her to look at him.

"God's wounds, Deryn!" It came out almost as a shout, and she jumped, eyes wide.

"You can't say that so-"

"Will you listen to me? Deryn, I'm trying to tell you that I'm sorry for everything! I'm sorry that I tried to show you how much I love you and it turned out wrong! I'm sorry that it's my fault all this happened and I'm sorry you blame me for it! I'm sorry that I love you and that you're all I can think about and every moment I know that you're mad at me I can hardly breathe! Deryn, I'm sorry you're hurt, but please let me heal you!"

She was frozen in place, her mouth in surprised "o". The only movement of hers Alek could see was the shaking of her hands. Deryn blinked. Once, twice, three times. "Did you really just say that?"

"Say what?"

A slow, reluctant smile had crept onto her face. "You love me."

Alek braced himself against the wall, running a hand through his hair. "Of course I do."

Her hands dropped and she leaned next to Alek on the wall, dumbstruck. She bit her lip and groaned. "Can I punch you right now?"

"If that's what it takes for you to forgive me," he said earnestly.

"Blisters, Alek! I was only joking! You're so-"

"Serious? I am. Providence guided me to you, but I won't let it take you away. The world shattered when my parents died, but with you it fits together again."

"Barking daft princes," she muttered.

"I'm not a prince anymore," he mused, "Just a plain boy, common as dirt." He kicked the floor for emphasis. "I just hope that someone as great as you would find me worthy."

"I'm as common as dirt, too."

"No, you're not," Alek said, then lowered his voice to a whisper, "You're the great Deryn Sharp, first a woman in the British Air Service who aided a revolution, and now a member of the highly prestigious London Zoological Society. There is no one in the world like you."

"Well, then, there's no one like you, either!" She pushed off the wall and faced him, listing off points on her fingers. "You were a prince, first off. You know six languages, are a Clanker turned Darwinist, and-"

She didn't get to finish, because Alek cut her off with a kiss. It was short and panicked, the terror of discovery racing through their veins. He pulled back almost as quickly as his lips met hers and stared her straight in the eyes. "Then we seem like a perfect match."

"Aye."

"Deryn, you can't be part of the ground crew."

She rolled her eyes and took a step back from him. "And why not?"

"Because-it's dangerous! You could be hurt!"

"Alek, what about it is dangerous? All the Clankers will be dead or wounded, and my job is just to get evidence and get out!"

He fumbled for a counter response, but none came to mind. "Just-please be careful, Deryn. I couldn't bear to lose you."

"I'll be fine, Dummkopf. Now, if you don't mind, I've got work to do. The sooner I get done, the more sleep I get before we make it to the mountains, aye?"

"Yes. I'll see you soon, Dylan."

A/N: So, did you like it? If you did, please review and tell my why because I like compliments. If you didn't, please review and also tell me why! I live to please my readers, and if you're not pleased then that kind of ruins my life just a little. Thanks. If you had a neutral opinion, review and tell me what I could have done to make you fangirl/guy squeal.


	22. Chapter 22

LeviA/N: Hey, everyone! Thank you all so much for the great reviews! You can't imagine how ego-boosting it was to get five reviews within hours of posting the chapter. It was so awesome. Anyways, I'm rewarding you with... Chapter 22! (Well, obviously.) Let's get to 50 reviews! Woohoo! I hope you all find this chapter *ahem* gratifying. So, enjoy!

P.S. It's my birthday on Friday. Just so you know. I expect virtual cake from each and every one of you.

P.S. (again) Disclaimer: I do not, nor will I ever, own legal rights to the Leviathan Trilogy, blah, blah, blah. You get the point.

They floated down to the snow like angels. Gruesome, godless angels, though, even Deryn had to admit. The skata didn't look anything like skunks, but more like Bovril-sized monkeys with wings. Twelve had been deployed at the outskirts of the compound, and as Deryn watched through her field glasses they deftly broke locks and forced doors, briefly entering and then leaving for a new building to spray.

Some minutes later, men rushed out the doors, faces covered with sleeves and the odd mask, spreading in all directions. Perfectly according to plan.

Deryn couldn't watch as the bomb bay doors opened.

The floor of the cargo bay kicked beneath her, sending the slightest jolt of pain zinging through her knee. Deryn ignored it, though, because she there wasn't time to think about that. She looked sidelong Newkirk, who seemed decidedly unsteady about the whole situation.

Deryn reckoned she wouldn't be so keen on going back into the place, either, if she were the poor boy. It probably brought back the memories for him like seeing fire did with Deryn.

The floor jolted again.

"Blisters, how many are they going to drop?" Deryn muttered, still unable to look below her. She'd get a full enough view when she was on the ground, that was for sure.

"Only a few more," Newkirk grimaced, his face a pale shade of green. He bit his lip and called out to the assembled men. "Get ready, lads! We'll keelhaul drop five minutes after the last one's dropped, aye?"

"Aye!" replied sixteen airmen.

Finally the explosions subsided and Deryn dared to take a glance at the wreckage below. What had formerly been a firm set of dark buildings was now a smoldering mass. There was smoke drifting lazily around, like it didn't have anywhere to go without any wind to force it about.

Deryn's stomach growled viciously, reminding her that only one meal had been served that day. She'd been unconsciously gnawing at her lip for hours, and now it was chewed raw both out of hunger and nerves. She hadn't been on a real mission since New York, which was only three months back, but it seemed like a long time ago.

"Ready lads!" Newkirk shouted, adjusting the carabiners in his friction hitch. "Drop ten counts after the man before you and watch below so you don't run into him!"

Deryn took her place beside him and made sure her gloves were on tightly. "Here we go," she muttered.

"Whenever you're ready, Mr. Sharp," the midshipman said. Deryn nodded, and together they jumped out into oblivion.

It was then that the battle adrenaline kicked in. The rope was as hot as a teakettle in her gloves, and the air tore through her hair in the fast descent. Her boots hit the ground with wet thud; the snow that had positively covered the area before was slowly melting in the heat. It hit her face in a wave, and it traced a finger down her spine. The ship had set them down at the edge of the wreckage, and straight down Deryn's line of vision had been the road that separated the ruins of what had been a small cluster of buildings. Several had collapsed under the bombs, but a few were still left standing, charred and wounded. Craters dotted the landscape. There was no way a person could have survived out here. Deryn just hoped she didn't have to see what was left.

"Fan out in pairs!" Newkirk bellowed. "Search for survivors and anything that looks important! Meet back at this spot in twenty minutes!"

Deryn fell into step beside him. Newkirk was walking fast, barely pausing as he leapt over debris and skirted smoking holes. He knew exactly where he was going.

They were silent until Newkirk drew to a stop in front of a mostly intact building.

"Mr. Sharp," he began quietly. "I have something to tell you."

"What is it, Mr. Newkirk?"

"They were making something here. It was small, and familiar, almost like a beastie made out of metal, like those ones they had Constantinople, aye? I only saw blue prints, and all those barking Clanker words confuse me, but the picture was clear enough. It was in this building," he said, and pointed an accusing finger at the door. "I need to see if it's true. If there's anything left."

Deryn nodded slowly. She stood at the ready to jump anyone that would come out of the door as Newkirk kicked it open. It cracked against the wall inside, causing part of the ceiling to crumble away on the far side of the wall. The single window was shattered. Rubble rained down on the two of them when they stepped inside.

"Step lightly," Deryn warned. Against the wall on their right were stacks of crates, all emblazoned with a familiar seal...

The old sultan. That's who's symbol it was. He'd been kidnapped by the Kizlar Agha on the night of the revolution, and was now hiding safely somewhere, probably eating the strange yogurt the Ottomans were so fond of. "That's just a wee bit strange," she mused suspiciously.

"There not here!" He cried, clenching his fists. Just as he was about to punch one of the crates, he stopped. "What's this?"

In the corner, beside an open cage, was a steel hatch. It was barely wider than Newkirk, just big enough to fit a person through. Deryn's heart sped up. If someone was down there, they could have easily been sheltered from the bombs. She mouthed be ready to Newkirk and leaned down to open it. He lowered into a crouch, knife clenched tightly in his hand. Deryn reached for hers at the same time she flung open the hatch, and then she hurtled back.

Nothing happened.

Deryn took a cautious step forward, peering into the vault. It was dark, and she could only make out a single box along the wall. Then it moved. Two arms uncurled from it, and suddenly a match was lit, and then a candle.

"Levi!" Newkirk shouted, and plunged into to the cellar, ignoring the ladder and jumping. "You're alive!"

"Don't!" Deryn cried, seeing the other person lying in wait just under the ladder too late. He rose from behind Newkirk and was about to hit him on the head with a wrench as Deryn tackled him.

With a high pitched, "Oomph!" he went down. Deryn wrestled the wrench from him, and pinned him down. He spit something out of his mouth-was that...hair? Long and blond, it wreathed his face in a tangled mass.

"Mr. Newkirk, if you would kindly bring over the candle," she panted. There was a brief shuffling as Levi handed the candle to Newkirk, and then the light cast over the enemy's face.

Deryn snorted. The person, though her face was contorted in rage and terror, was definitely a girl's. She shifted her weight but kept the girl restrained. "Well. What do you suppose we do now?"

Newkirk was looking hard at the girl, as if he were quite perplexed about something. "Take her prisoner," he said simply.

"Du neht mich nich!" she screamed, and fought against Deryn with renewed force. Deryn gritted her teeth and pushed her back down onto the ground.

"Newkirk, come hold her arms, will you?" Deryn asked.

"You mean-I can't! She's a girl!" he cried indignantly, and Deryn had to choke back a laugh. He was the only person in the room who wasn't a girl.

"Just do it. She won't come with us willingly, so we'll have to do this the hard way."

"Don't-don't hurt her-" Levi called gruffly. LeviWhy would she be worried for this girl's safety? Wasn't she Levi's captor?

Or, were they prisoners together?

Deryn shook her head, and said in German, "Who are you?"

"Why should I tell you?" She spat, and kicked her feet uselessly. Newkirk took hold of her arms for Deryn.

"Because if you don't I'll knock your lights out," Deryn deadpanned. The candle light was throwing wild shadows across the girl's face.

The girl's eyes widened only fractionally, masterfully hiding her surprise. "You wouldn't dare hurt a girl!"

"You see," Deryn sighed, said "that's where you're wrong." and punched her, hard, grimacing as her head smacked on the dirt floor. "Sorry," she whispered, "but that felt way too barking good."

"Was that entirely necessary?" Levi croaked.

"What, you have a fancy for her?" Newkirk bumped her on the shoulder after he pulled her to her feet.

"No!" she sputtered, paling. "I-I mean, so what if I do, Mr. Newkirk?"

Deryn shook her head. "We haven't got time for this!" she cried, and hefted the unconscious girl across her shoulder. "Oof."

"I'll carry her," Singe offered, holding out his arms. Deryn gladly obliged, and he took her lightly, making sure her head rested on his shoulder.

"I can't believe you came." Levi shook her head, incredulous, but then blinked and cleared her throat. "Er-thanks, guys."

"Anytime, Mr. Wilson," Deryn said with a smile, "I'll admit, it's quite an entertaining adventure, but I've had better."

"Who are you, again?" Levi asked when they'd climbed out of the cellar. Newkirk handed the girl up and then climbed out himself. She really was surprisingly light, but more than Deryn could carry now that she'd spent so long out of the ratlines.

Deryn wiped her hands on her trousers and stuck out a hand. "Dylan Sharp at your service, employee of His Majesty's Zoological Society of London, former midshipman aboard His Majesty's Airship Leviathan."

Newkirk barked a laugh, "I liked you other title better, Dylan."

"Aye, it was loads easier to say," she replied with a smile. But, even though it was dead long, it was right for her; once all Deryn had needed was to fly, but now that didn't seem so important, like she had what she needed, and that was something else-and she realized, with a shock, that that thing was Alek. The emptiness that had nestled in her gut was filling now that they were friends again.

Deryn kept smiling, even as they weaved through the wreckage once more, back to where they'd started. A small group of men had come back already, but one of them wasn't wearing a flight suit. He was dusty and hunched in mechanic's slops, but even so, a spark of recognition flashed through her attic.

She had to look twice to make sure she'd seen him right, and then a third time because she didn't believe what she was seeing. Was the boy following her everywhere? Deryn wasn't sure whether to punch him square in the mouth and knock him out before he recognized her, or merely avoid him as much as possible.

She sighed. Although she really wanted to punch him, Deryn didn't want to mess up the pretty face of Thaddeus Welker.


	23. Chapter 23

_**Author's Note: This is the long awaited chapter 23. I sincerely hope it doesn't disappoint. A quick lesson on the origin of "Sincere": It actually means "Without wax"-stemming from ancient times when they made marble statues. Sometimes there would be flaws, and those would be filled with wax, but when they got out into the sun... melted wax. So "sincere" statues were true ones that had no wax. Just remember, the next time you sign your letters with, "Sincerely, me." you're saying your letter has no wax. Well, more that what you've stated above is genuine or real, but that's beside the point.**_

_**But I'm just keeping you from the action here. Without further ado...**_

**Disclaimer: I don't own this. Really, we've been over this before.**

That boy was looking at him. The one that was on the train. What was his name, again?

Oh. Tad.

Deryn was making sure to stay out of his line of sight, but it was hardly necessary. Tad's eyes were glued on Singe because he thought the boy was Dylan. As it was, Singe didn't think Tad would recognize her given that he thought she was a girl, when she was pretending to be a boy and-

Singe shook his head. It was all so barking confusing with that girl. As long as he could keep the boy from realizing he wasn't Dylan until they could sort this all out, it would be fine. He gave Deryn a nod to show he understood the situation. She sighed in relief and set back to taking care of the unconscious girl. The pretty one from the cellar.

"What are you looking at?" Singe said gruffly.

Tad raised an eyebrow. "You."

"Like the uniform? It's great out here in the cold mountain weather. You should really get yourself one of these," he drawled, snapping the collar of his coat; he couldn't help but taunt the boy a little. He was wearing only a pair of trousers, a shirt and thin jacket, and boots, and he kept shivering.

"I would, but my wrists are tied," he managed, teeth chattering. His lips were turning blue.

Groaning inwardly as the sympathetic part of himself took over, Singe pulled his outer layer off and draped it over Tad's shoulders. He hissed as the frigid mountain air sliced through his middy's uniform.

"Compromise, you see? You have a coat, but your wrists are still tied. I'm happy, your happy."

"I can hardly say I'm happy." He rolled his eyes. "But thank you."

"Can't have my prisoner getting frostbite, can I?" Singe patted him on the shoulder a little too hard, and Tad nearly fell over. "Don't you worry, though. It's perfectly warm on the ship. The heat from the gut is quite comfortable."

He turned away to address his assembled men as the Clanker cringed.

"That's all of us, aye? Count off." He waited patiently as his men numbered themselves off to sixteen and ignored Tad's comment about not knowing Darwinists could count so well. Pulling out his semaphore flags, he sent the ready signal to the bridge. He could almost see the splotch of the captain's head nod.

The scent of vented hydrogen filled the air and the ship dropped quickly. A ladder dropped from the cargo hatch when the beastie was ten yards above the ground, and Singe watched as the airmen climbed up with various found things. One of the bigger men carried the Clanker girl on his shoulder, and Singe clipped himself to Tad's belt and untied his hands.

Once everyone was up the ladder, the ship rapidly spilled ballast and they shot upward. Now it was time to inventory their findings.

"What've we got, lads?"

"A midshipman!" Levi cried gleefully, and was rewarded by many slaps on the back, even a hug. He turned pale and grimaced, though Singe wasn't quite sure why.

"Two Clankers, obviously. This here is Thaddeus Welker. Say hello, Tad," Singe said, and continued, not waiting for a reply. He gestured to the girl. "I'm not sure who this lass is, though. Anything else?"

"I've got a funny looking box and a lump of mechanical parts," a man offered, and Singe nodded, only mildly intrigued. That could be expected of any Clanker hideout. As for the box, it probably only caught the man's attention because he'd seen the seal in Constantinople, or so Deryn had explained. He'd personally never seen it before, but that was mostly because he'd spent almost the whole trip inside the air beast, much less where he could see the official symbol of the sultan.

The head rigger stepped in and took over Singe's job, and he gratefully took leave to his room after seeing that the prisoners made it safely to the brig. He promised to bring Tad breakfast with a sarcastic air kiss. The girl still hadn't woken up.

The moment his head hit the pillow, he was asleep.

It wasn't very hard to carry two breakfast trays, especially since they had barely any food on them. With the whole ship still on half-rations, the prisoners wouldn't be eating any better.

Singe hesitated a moment before unlocking the door to the girl's cell. It wasn't unpleasant down here in the brig, but it certainly wasn't the best conditions. He stared down at one of the trays he was carrying sullenly; there was a stale biscuit and a mug of old coffee, which was warm, at least. Sighing, Singe pulled the few potatoes he'd saved and wrapped in a napkin from his own breakfast earlier and placed them on the one for the girl.

The door opened with a click that hardly echoed in the small room. In the corner, a slight form was huddled, knees folded in on herself, holding them tightly; like a hug, Singe thought. When she looked up, he was caught by the greenness of her eyes.

"You're meal," he said curtly. The girl nodded dumbly but didn't say a word. "Do you speak English?"

"Yes. Some." Her voice was distracted, eyes fixed hungrily on the tray he held. Quickly he handed it to her and stood silently as she swallowed the biscuit in three bites, the potatoes in two, and washed it down with the coffee. She let out a deep breath when she was done and leaned her head against the wall. "Thank you."

"I'm just doing my job."

"For the potatoes," the girl pursed her lips and inclined her head, making the grimy blond hair fall into her face. She must have seen the other tray, the one for Tad, that had none. She certainly didn't miss much, did she?

"What's your name?" He asked suddenly. In the moment it took her to process the words, she let her long legs stretch on the cot, which pulled the hem of her trousers up well past her ankles. He would be embarrassed about seeing this, but she had such an effortless grace that he didn't think to look away.

"I have two names," she said slowly, "I am Rachel. My men call me Ronnie when we work. You understand?"

"Y-yes." He stuttered. "I am-er-Eugene."

He stood awkwardly, not sure what to do next. Rachel extended a calloused hand toward him. "I am pleased to meet you, Eugene."

He took her hand gently and was surprised by the firmness of her shake. "The pleasure is mine, Rachel." She let go of his hand and folded her legs up again, leaving a space next to her on the small cot.

"You sit? You are tired,"Rachel offered, patting the spot next to her. Singe was, in fact, very tired from all that had happened. He sat gingerly on the edge, careful to leave as much space as possible between them. Utterly aware of both her closeness and the way she was staring at him, he decided his boots were extremely interesting. She's a Clanker, he reminded himself. The enemy.

But then why was he so drawn to her?

"So..." Singe picked at his fingers.

"You want to ask a question?" She reached over and touched his shoulder lightly, and Singe had stop himself before he took hold of her hand.

"Yes, I do," he admitted. There was a silence as he tried to figure out how to phrase his words.

"Why... why do you..."

"Why do I work with the men?" Singe nodded, and she shrugged. "Because it is what I like to do. I always have liked machines. My father paid the commander to take me up and work. The men I work with... they call me Ronnie so they forget I am a girl. It is not customary for a girl to work like I do."

"I understand. I know someone who's a lot like you."

"Who?"

"Uh-well, that's hard to explain. Look, I won't be back until tomorrow, with breakfast. They may come and question you, to get information on what you were doing in the mountains." Because she's a Clanker, he didn't say, but made sure he reinforced the fact to himself. "Please, tell them what they want to know."

Rachel pressed her lips together, shaking her head. "You should go. Thaddeus still needs his food, yes?"

"Aye."

He stood stiffly and walked to the door, not looking back even though he could feel Rachel's eyes on him. She's a Clanker. He couldn't like her.

But that hadn't stopped Deryn, had it?

Setting his jaw, he pushed the door open and slipped into Tad's cell, lit only by a small worm lamp. The only furnishing was a fabricated wood cot covered with a few blankets and a hard pillow, just like Rachel's-no, it would be better to think of her as Ronnie-cell. The boy was laying on top of it all.

"I come with breakfast, your countship," Singe said sarcastically to hide the knot in his chest. Tad sad up upon his arrival.

"Not much of a breakfast," he replied, wrinkling his nose at the stale biscuit and mug of warm, bitter coffee. "And I'm not a count. Yet. You seem well rested, Mr. Newkirk."

"As much as I can be. But I can't stay and chat. Fraternizing with the enemy isn't part of my duties."

Tad leaned against the wall, a smug grin stretching across his mouth. "Oh, I think you can stay and chat for as long as I want you to."

"Excuse me?"

"You see, Mr. Newkirk, I have this all figured out."

His spine was prickling. "You have what figured out?"

"All of it. You might want to seal that door." Singe did, but he kept his eyes on the Clanker boy the whole time. He'd already made the mistake of responding to Newkirk when he was supposed to be Dylan, and he wasn't about to make another.

"It wasn't hard, really. Once I realized that you weren't Dylan, the pieces just clicked into place. To think, the British Air Service would be so shamed! A girl..."

Freezing in place, hands clamped tight on his jacket, Singe turned to Tad. "What did you just say?"

"A girl in the British Air Service. They'll be very discredited when the world finds that out. But I could be persuaded to keep my quiet, at a price."

"Oh, I'll persuade you, alright," he growled, pulling out his rigging knife. "Breathe one word about Deryn and I'll-"

"Deryn? So that's her real name?" Tad asked coolly, then muttered to himself: "But which one?"

Singe blinked. Did Tad think that Deryn had more than one real name, or...

"Ah, I'd suppose that's Dylan's name, then? You know, it was very clever of-"

"Stop. What do you know? Tell me from the beginning." Singe took a leveling breath and set his jaw.

"But that would be absolutely no fun. No, I'll leave you guessing." He shrugged, turning to his breakfast. "You can go now."


	24. Chapter 24

A/N: Wow, that took a long time. A month to post one chapter, whoo-ee. I'd like to take this moment to thank all of you that are actually about to read this, because either that means that you care enough to realize that I've posted a new chapter or you're a new reader who has taken the time to make it all the way to chapter 24. Either way, it means a lot to me. So, thank you, again, and please keep reading no matter how long it takes me to post. As for right now, enjoy the chapter!

Disclaimer: I own none of this. As usual. Darn.

The bridge had more people in it than Alek had seen since Tesla had been first brought aboard. He cringed thinking of the man.

"... And at that point, sir, Midshipman Fitzroy led the prisoners to brig and we were all dismissed." Deryn saluted and clicked her heels.

"Thank you, Mr. Sharp," Captain Hobbes nodded, and Deryn sat down. "I would like to formally congratulate you and your crew for finding Mr. Wilson alive. Although it was a mystery that he alone was spared, I'm sure all of us are grateful he has returned to us alive."

Alek noticed Deryn stiffening beside him, but she relaxed just as soon, and he wondered if maybe he'd imagined it. "Unfortunately, the rest of the crew have been confirmed dead."

The room was silent for a moment out of respect.

Alek's mind was still reeling from Deryn's account of the mission. He had been stuck here on the bridge with the lady boffin and the officers. Of all the scurrying dots on the ground, he hadn't been able to pick out Deryn, and he'd clenched his fists for so long in worry he still had red marks on his palms the next morning. The thought that she had been down there, with all that rubble and a few bombs that could have gone off at any time because they didn't explode on impact, was still twisting his stomach into knots. He missed the time just a few weeks ago when the greatest danger had been falling out of the tree, not him getting shot and Deryn risking her life for a few machine scraps.

"The girl we captured is perplexing," Dr. Barlow remarked, stroking Tazza's head absently, "I've tried to speak with her, but she will say nothing in any language other than her name. I've already tried to speak with her a few times since she woke up. Rachel, she is called, is on mild painkillers for a blunt force head injury." She shot Deryn a pointed look, and Deryn only shrugged. "Mr. Newkirk is serving her and the boy breakfast as we speak."

She and Deryn exchanged glances, and the lady boffin nodded slightly. Deryn said "Sir, the Zoological Society has brought us in contact with Thaddeus before. His father is the German Count Abbott Welker. They may be the most devoted Clankers I ever met, sir. The boy insulted Darwinism in the middle of barking London! And the bum rag almost looked pleased when he heard about all those poor airships! If there's anyone behind all this, him and his Da would be part of it."

The captain nodded and smoothed his beard. "In that case, I'll need a full debriefing from all that have encountered the count and his son previously."

Alek glanced worriedly at her and Dr. Barlow. That was a tricky subject. How much could they tell the captain without giving up Deryn's secret?

"Mr. Fitzroy, please begin your debriefing," ordered the captain.

Sebastian stood up, straightened his uniform, and saluted Captain Hobbes. "Thank you, sir. I was with the second group of airmen deployed, and I searched the compound with Coxswain Clarke. As you know, some of the air bombs were duds, and as a result the Clankers had all gathered in a single area, in a building that was mostly intact. They were armed with mostly pistols and a few larger guns, and when another group of men joined us we were at a stalemate with them.

"It was then that I had an idea. I'd recently learned how aerial bombs work in my classes, so I thought I could figure out how to fix one. The others held off fire while I fixed and set the duds on a timer, and we took them secretly to the backside of the building and got away as quickly as we could. It was a success and none of the Clankers were left alive."

The bridge was silent for a moment, and even the message lizards that had been scurrying along the ceiling had stopped. "It was then discovered," Dr. Busk said, rubbing his palms together, "that it had been the central intelligence building of the compound, likely where all the information on the Orion Omega was stored, along with all other experiments and many other things that would have been useful to the Air Service. Upon inspection of the remains," he paused, looking pointedly around the room everyone's face for just a moment, "my team found a disturbing file. Only one sheet had survived, and a few partials of others, and the distinguishable words read: 'Orion Alpha; Mission success.'"

Dr. Barlow's hand flew to her mouth, and Alek's fists clenched. "Alpha?"

Fitzroy ran his tongue along his lower lip. "But it has already been decided that Orion Omega is the threat, last in the line and most dangerous," he barked, grabbing the ends of the table and turning his knuckles white. "That's what we should focus on, not this 'Alpha' blether! It doesn't mean anything!"

"Then why would it say 'mission success'? And there was part of an illustration, one that looked like some sort of flamethrower," Dr. Busk shook his head, "and fire is one of the most lethal things for an airship. This can only mean that there are two parts to the Clankers' plan, whatever it may be, and it could be worse than we'd ever imagined. Yet now we have nothing but charred scraps of unreadable paper when we were so close to discovering what that plan is, possibly saving hundreds of lives. Nothing, thanks to Mr. Fitzroy's brilliant plan."

"Surely there was nothing else that could be done in his situation," the captain told him, raising a hand to calm the man.

"I have just a question for you, Doctor." Sebastian tilted his head and stared at boffin, waiting for a reply.

"Well, go ahead, boy," Dr. Busk said gruffly.

"Just how many times have you been awarded the Air Gallantry Cross for bravery in battle?"

No one spoke.

From what Alek had gathered, Fitzroy was always perfect boy in front of adults, but when none were around, he was Fitzroy, arrogant and nasty as ever. This side of him would be new to the captain and all the officers.

"Well?" he challenged.

"None, but I ha-"

"I see." Sebastian drummed his fingers on the map table, staring unflinchingly at the gray haired boffin. Then he chuckled a little, a cold, maniacal laugh. "Maybe I should just have your job, then."


	25. Chapter 25

A/N: Hi, everyone. I hope you're still here. I haven't got much to say right now, except that if you notice any minor disturbances in details, as in they clash with a previous chapter, I'm working on fixing that, but feel free to point them out if you EVER see one by giving me a review. Which I love. Review, people!

Disclaimer: I don't own this, and I'm getting tired of saying that. It hurts my pride.

"We have a problem."

All three of them said it at the same time, and then stopped.

"Well, go on then," Deryn ushered Newkirk, taking a seat at the mess table. She and Alek had rushed there the moment they were dismissed from the meeting, which had ended quickly after Fitzroy's debriefing.

"It's... a private matter, Mr. Sharp." Newkirk raised his eyebrows, willing Deryn to understand. "I don't think I can tell you here," he muttered, nodding toward Melissa and her sister, who were catching up on lost time by one of the windows. "Perhaps the gastric channels?"

Alek shuddered beside Deryn, and she shook her head. "It's alright, Mr. Newkirk, you can't tell them anything they don't already know."

Deryn could feel Alek stiffen beside her, and Newkirk spluttered, "A-are you sure?"

"Yes," she said firmly. "Now, go ahead."

"Well, it's about Tad. He... knows. Who you are." He paused, taking a deep breath. "And it's my fault."

"As it turns out, Mr. Newkirk, I would appear to be several people. You're going to have to be more specific than that."

Alek took a seat next to her after he rigidly draped his piloting jacket of the back of his chair, smiling grimly.

If only it weren't so complicated, she thought. When she was a little wee lass, she'd never dreamed she'd amount to be anyone, and and now she was three people. It wasn't all bad, of course, and she much preferred it to being a woman stuck at home with a baby on her hip, but it would be nice if she knew exactly which person she was nowadays. She may have been born Deryn, but she was spending most of her life as Dylan, and she wasn't sure she'd ever be able to go back. Her pa had always said things were easier done than reversed.

"That's the thing," Newkirk growled, "I don't know how much he knows, just that he knows more than he should. He's pieced it together that there's a girl in the Service."

The conversation between the sisters stopped abruptly. Levi took a deep breath. "That would be my fault," she said.

"Excuse me?" Newkirk asked. "You told him about Deryn? How would you even barking know?"

Levi walked over to the table and leaned on the back of a chair. "Let me explain, Mr. Newkirk. I'm Lauren Wilson, and this is my sister, Melissa."

Deryn was sure that anyone passing in the hall could have heard Newkirk slap his forehead. He turned to Deryn and gave her the most withering glare she'd ever seen. "You mean, there's more of you?"

"No," she said patiently, "They're Americans."

Alek looked up from his slouched place next to her and offered, "Like in The Perils of Pauline," and ran his hands through his hair, rolling his eyes.

Newkirk gave him a confused look and then turned back to Deryn. "In the British Air Service? How'd you pull that off?"

Melissa cleared her throat and joined the group. "It was my idea, really. Our mom sent us to boarding school over in England, which we needed recommendation letters for. And the Service needs those, too, see? So we changed a few important details and voila! Easy as pie." She ignored Deryn grumble about how making pie was not, in fact, easy. "Lauren's a dab hand at forgery.

"We had to study the Manual like crazy, of course, and teach each other to act like boys, but there were a few weeks in between arriving in London and taking the middies' test. It was pure luck that the Leviathan was needing a few more midshipmen. You know everything that's happened from then on. So, here we are."

Lauren's head was in her hands. "Not everything," she groaned. "I told them my secret to save my life. They were going to kill me-I was lined up next to Rigby and Thompson, and they were going to shoot me in the head. Right before, I screamed it. What I was, and they threw me aside. I was a coward and I watched them die. I didn't do anything to save them! Nothing!" she growled, ashamed instead of frantic.

Melissa took her sister into her arms, stroking her head. "They kept me alive to blackmail the Service. I was so afraid of them, what they might have done to me." She sniffled once, then blinked a few times, but that was all there was to her crying. "You know who Ronnie is. She became my friend, and she was the only one who knew any English, other than Tad, but he's a bum rag and I didn't tell him anything he didn't already know."

"He's perspicacious!" shouted Bovril, and Deryn looked down at it in surprise. The loris had been strangely quiet lately, only muttering the words it learned and not speaking out much.

"Aye, it seems so," Newkirk agreed, looking out the window. They were passing over the sea again, on the way back to Britain. Unst was only a day away now, and once they arrived there they'd finally have more food. Deryn's stomach growled at the thought of finally having fresh potatoes again instead of the staling bread and old potatoes at any of the two meals they were served on half-rations.

"I didn't tell him about having a sibling also serving," Lauren insisted, "If he knows anything new, it's because he figured it out on his own."

"Perspicacious," Bovril trilled, then went on muttering.

"How much do we know he knows?" Deryn asked, feeling the hysteria rise in her throat. Depending on how much Tad knew, there was no limit to what he could blackmail any of them into doing. She took a gulp of air and tried to steady her racing heart. It would be okay. They would figure something out.

"I don't know!" Newkirk repeated, kneading his knuckles into the table. "He wouldn't tell me anything else."

Alek took a deep breath. "When do you feed him again? You could hold it from him until he told you something."

Nodding, Lauren said, "That's a good idea. If he refuses, just eat the bum rag's food right in front of him. Pretty soon he'd be begging to tell you all he knows." She smiled grimly. Melissa was gaping at her in disbelief. "What? He's a complete bum rag."

"They're due to get lunch in about an hour." He shrugged, probably thinking forward to his own lunch.

Deryn was about to speak when she heard the scrambling of a message lizard overhead. Without preamble, it began speaking in Dr. Barlow's voice, a little less calm than usual. "Mr. Sharp, Mr. Hohenberg, please report to the bridge immediately."

"We're on our way, Doctor," Alek said, standing up and snatching his jacket from the back of the chair. "End message," he added quickly, and the lizard blinked and scrambled back into the tubes.

Chair legs scraped across the floor as the other four stood. "We've got some bats to feed, if you'll excuse us," Melissa said, completely like Miles again.

"Of course," Newkirk nodded to them and then ambled slowly out. "Tell me how it goes," he told Deryn, and clapped her on the shoulder. He was about to do the same to Alek when the other boy flinched away-his arm was much better now, but that would still hurt. "Sorry," he apologized awkwardly.

Alek gave him a good natured smile and chuckled. "No harm done. But we've got to be going. Dr. Barlow will have our heads if we're not fast."

"Nice of you to show," Dr. Barlow said cooly, fixing them with a disapproving look.

"We had to climb almost the whole barking length of the ship! And not to mention Alek's slow as a box of turtles on the ratlines!" Deryn protested, but another glare from the lady boffin quieted her. Boffins seemed to have that effect on everyone.

The bridge was less crowded than earlier that day, with only the captain, Dr. Barlow, and Dr. Busk clustered around one of the various tables. Deryn and Alek had just taken their place in the crowd when the door emitted yet another person.

"Mr. Fitzroy, right on time," Captain Hobbes welcomed him, vacating a place next to himself. "Now we're all here. The head falconer should be here any moment, with an injured strafing hawk discovered flying near our ship."

Dr. Barlow's eyebrows drew together. "That's rare," she said softly.

The captain was nodding solemnly when a burly man stumbled through the door, a strafing hawk clinging to his arm. There were voices coming from where he was, and for a moment Deryn thought the hawk was talking. It was then that she saw the three message lizards scrambling along it's back, two of them squawking in many different voices. The third was completely silent.

"Fire! Fire!" one of the lizards shouted. "We'll all die!"

"Oh, no! Jump ship!" the other cried. "Lord help us!"

A chill ran up Deryn's spine, and her jaw dropped.

"Save what you can! Jump ship! We're on fire!" it shrieked, then made the sounds of a crackling blaze. Then it coughed, and said in a somewhat calm voice, "Tell whoever you find that it's happened again. And it's them! Their spitting fire! The-oof!"

"God's wounds, won't it stop?" Alek asked hysterically, the only one in the room able to speak.

The captain waved his hand distractedly, staring at the frantic animals. The falconer swiftly put small black hoods over the heads of the three lizards and the hawk, who had been fidgeting anxiously. They quieted down considerably, but the occasional shout of "Fire!" could still be heard from under the cowls.

Deryn's upper lip was quivering, so she bit down on it hard, leaving a deep imprint of her teeth in her mouth and only barely avoiding drawing blood. "Why is that one quiet?" she asked, glad to find her voice was steady and deep. It was the safest question she could think of.

It was Fitzroy who answered. "It's attic's scrambled," he said simply.

"Then why are the other two raving mad?" Alek reached up to scratch his scalp; Darwinism was still infinitely confusing to him.

"You can't possibly expect every lizard to act identically to the one next to it," Fitzroy spluttered. "That would be like saying that Dylan would choose an apple over a pear just because you do, too."

"It is quite strange," Dr. Barlow muttered, peering closely at the silent lizard. "Almost all lizards react similarly to trauma, and this one appears to be completely normal."

"I'll investigate it," Fitzroy offered, gathering the lizards before the lady boffin could get too good a look at them. "It is my job, after all," he added, glaring pointedly at Deryn. As he left the room, lizards in arm, Deryn swore she heard him mutter something about zookeepers.

She took a deep breath, shaking her head and resolving to investigate his new job later. Turning back to the captain, she asked, "But, sir, what does all it mean?"

"The only thing it can. We've lost another of the AirFleet."


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N: Is this pure fluff? Is it a hint at someone's secret plot? Is it _totally awesome? _Well, I can only answer one of the questions with an absolute, unbiased "Yes" but I'll leave it to you to figure out which one. So, what are you waiting for? Get reading!**

**Disclaimer: I'm not Scott Westerfeld, and therefore I don't own the characters or settings he created. But I do own the ones I created.**

"Breakfast?" Singe asked, leaning around the doorway into Ronnie's cell.

"Is that you, Eugene?" She called back to him, straining her eyes in the darkness. Singe quickly pulled out his whistle and piped for the wormlight hanging in the ceiling to glow. She squinted at it for a moment, blinking, then turned to grin at him. "It is you," she said brightly, her face light green but spotted with dark shadows. It was still before dawn, and they would be over Unst in less than five hours.

The cooks would be the only crewmen up at this hour, preparing the half rations for all of the crew—even the guards had nodded off—and in their early morning groggy state, they hadn't objected to giving out the prisoners' meals a bit ahead of time; the first of it would already be cold when the men woke up, anyway. He'd merely said he'd been getting a head start on his middy's duties for the day—or, rather, he had gotten up early so he could carry out his plan and only be partially behind on his tasks, but he'd conveniently left that part out.

He brandished the two biscuits, cups of coffee, and meager servings of potatoes like they were the King's feast. The meals were set down on Ronnie's bed, and she sat on her pillow, he opposite her, their legs crossed as they leaned over the food and dug in. Singe picked up his biscuit, tearing it in half without hesitation. The first was eaten in a single bite, the second placed on the girl's tray. In the dim light, she frowned at him. "The food is yours," she insisted, and flicked the small half back onto his plate. "You eat it."

Shaking his head, he deliberately plucked up the biscuit, holding it in the air between them. "_If_ I eat this biscuit, you agree to eat half of my potatoes and tour the ship with me before the rest of the crew wakes up."

Her mouth formed that little "o" shape it always did when she was surprised. "You are allowed to do that?"

Singe bit his tongue. "You're avoiding my question," he countered, avoiding _her_ question. She closed her mouth and swallowed, her brow creasing into little wrinkles.

"I would love to do that," Ronnie admitted, "but I do not want you to be in trouble."

"I'll be fine," he said quietly, meeting her deep green eyes. She held his gazed for a moment, so intense that he felt a clenching in his heart and his lungs stop working in shock. Ronnie was breathtaking, even though her blond hair was covered in grime and tangled in knots, her skin darkened by grease and her fingernails were chewed to stubs. She had an aura about her, one that drew Singe to her. To distract himself, he lifted up the piece of bread so that it blocked his line of sight into her eyes.

"Fine."

He smirked at her, pulling his biscuit apart and placing half of his potatoes inside. Dumping the other part onto her plate, he swallowed his sandwich. "Eat up," Singe said with his mouth full, "We've got a long tour ahead of us."

"Would you like to see the message lizard room or the mess hall next?"

Ronnie chewed on her lip thoughtfully. "I do not need any more food," she said, grinning at him impishly, "So we shall see lizards now."

He reached down for her hand to lead her there, but drew it back sharply, placing it on her shoulder instead and steering her out of the room. The corridors were still dark, the wormlamps resting because no crewman would have use of them… yet. Singe estimated they had another half an hour before the general wake-up call was sounded.

Rounding a corner, he pulled her into the second room on the left. "Now you have to be quiet," he said, "or the lizards will all wake up and start chattering. Barking unsettling, that is."

Ronnie's silhouette nodded mutely, her eyes twinkling. Singe took out his handheld wormlamp from his pocket, and the soft green glow filled the small room. On either side of them were cages about the size of a man's head, stacked up to the ceiling all the way to the end of the room. The far side was filled with the boffin's desk.

It looked different than usual.

In truth, he'd only been in there once or twice, but Dr. Williams' desk wasn't easy to forget. He was the most unorganized boffin Singe had met in the Service, and he had always left papers and files strewn about his desk and rarely could the fabricated wood be seen through them.

Now it was spotless. The files were stacked neatly into a single small pile, and a wooden filing cabinet was filled with papers, organized alphabetically. One of the cages was in the center of the desk, holding three message lizards. They looked normal enough, but none of them were asleep like the rest of the beasties in the room. Two kept twitching. Singe looked closely at the plaque that should have said Williams' name, and then he swallowed a gasp of surprise.

The dully shining surface read, _"Sebastian Fitzroy"._

"What are they for?" asked Ronnie's voice incredulously.

"Uh, this isn't really all that interesting of a place," he whispered, pushing her back toward the door.

"Yes it is," she whispered back, resisting him.

Taking a step back, he stumbled and fell onto the wall of the cages, and immediately groggy voices filled the room. Ronnie's face paled, and she backed out of the room. "They have seen us? You will get in trouble?" she said when they'd made it into the hallway.

"No," he assured her, "That was the message lizards talking. It's what they're for."

"Oh."

"It's okay, really." He placed his hand on her shoulder to find she was shaking. Ronnie shied away from him, avoiding his eyes.

"I thought that..."

"Sh. It will be fine, I promise. Now, do you still not want to go to the mess hall?"

"No."

"Then we have just one last stop and the grand tour of the _Leviathan_."

"I will admit that Darwinism is amazing," she said, after "wow"ing for about the tenth time in the in as many minutes. She wasn't like most Clankers, the kind who shuddered at even the thought of a fabricated beastie; she always went in for a closer look, from the bees to even the gastric channels. At the moment they were exploring the recycling systems located just to the right of the gastric channels, directly above the gondola's back end. The beasties here, slug like things the size of dogs, ate all the paper the crewmen were done with—classified mail that needed disposing, letters that had been read so many times they'd fallen apart, simple stationary notes—and spit it back out as clean pulp that could be pressed back into new paper. "I do not know that we have anything that can do this," she said, "at least not where I have been."

"Well, we are pretty amazing," Singe said, puffing out his chest in a gesture of mock bragging.

"I know you are," she muttered.

Spluttering, Singe replied, "I don't even understand half of this barking stuff! I fall asleep during lectures!"

She punched him on the arm playfully. "You? No…" A mischievous grin was tilting the corners of her mouth.

He regretted teaching her sarcasm.

A half-asleep crewman stumbled into the room at that moment, and Singe pulled Rachel by the arm in between two of the sleeping beasties. They let off a thick odor, and a puddle of slime had gathered around one of them. _Don't think about it!_ Singe told himself. He took a fleeting glance at the watch on his wrist, and cursed under his breath. They'd lost track of time, and now the entire crew would be awake in a matter of minutes.

The airman looked about dazedly for a moment as if wondering how he'd gotten there and then turned away, muttering something about the bathroom. Singe counted to ten and then ushered Rachel out into the corridor. They rushed through the least used hallways to get back to the brig and managed to get back into the cell without a sound, the guards still snoozing lightly. The instant the door had closed, they broke into insane giggles. "We made it," Singe gasped, clutching his side and trying to regain control.

"Yes, yes," Rachel laughed, and Singe stepped toward her, leaning down until his forehead was against hers. He looked deep into her widened eyes, closing the few inches to kiss her.

She turned from him so that his lips landed on her cheek, and said "Shouldn't you be giving Tad his food?" with a pointed look at the tray he placed on the fabricated wood in the corner before they'd left.

He closed his eyes tightly, bringing himself back into reality. She was still a prisoner on the opposite side of the war, and he couldn't do this with her. "Yes," he said solemnly. "I'll be back with dinner," he added without a look over his shoulder.

"Goodbye," she called softly after him. He could hear traces of shame in that one word, and was that… disappointment?

He shook his head, clearing it of her aura. It was no wonder the Service didn't allow girls aboard willingly. At least, not very often. They were too distracting.

The door squeaked open and Singe shouldered his way in to Tad's cell. "Rise and shine!" he called boisterously, expecting to find the Clanker curled up on his cot, still asleep. Instead, he was sitting up in bed, eyes fixed on Singe.

"Well, where's my 'grand tour?'"

**A/N: Mua. Ha. Ha.**


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: Hello, dear readers! I have chapter 27 for you, obviously. I realized that I'd been forgetting about both Max and Bovril (Sorry!), so I gave you an ample dose of both of them this chapter. You're welcome . I really don't have anything else, so enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I did not magically become Scott Westerfeld, so most of this stuff isn't mine. **

"Zeus."

Deryn turned around to find Max grinning at her in the light of the cargo bay. "Excuse me?" she asked.

"I've come up with a name for my Roth Turtle. Zeus."

Deryn looked at Max accusingly, crossing her arms. Bovril slipped on her shoulder a bit, but quickly regained its position, rolling the new word around in its mouth gladly.

"And why is it you felt the need to inform me of this, Max?" she said, giving him a withering look.

"Because I just knew it would make you smile, Mr. Sharp. Don't try to hide it," he chided, and despite herself, Deryn could feel the edges of her mouth tilting up infectiously. "See? I told you so."

"Bum-rag," she mumbled, and Max broke into laughter. Deryn stared at him disbelievingly. The man was ridiculously optimistic whenever she saw him. Max couldn't even bring himself to be properly offended when she insulted him.

Maybe he knew she didn't mean it.

"A bum-rag indeed, Mr. Sharp, a bum-rag indeed," he mused. "But don't you want to know _why _I chose such a brilliant name for such a brilliant creature?"

"Not particularly, no," Deryn grumbled at him, but regardless of her answer he launched into a speech of exactly how he'd come about naming the barking turtle "Zeus".

"Well, you know how all of the Monkey Luddites blether about how Darwinism is so godless? I thought to m'self, what if I fixed that problem and gave Darwinism a god? So I named my turtle after the most famous of the ancient gods. Problem solved."

Deryn's eyebrows rose almost of their own will. "Nice of you to think of everyone. Except that you're still not supposed to name the beasties," she added.

He thought about that for a moment, glaring pointedly at the loris and effectively reminding her that there was an exception to that rule right on her shoulder. It simply curled around her neck and returned his gaze, wide eyes gleaming.

"Brilliant. Just barking _brilliant._ Now you've got the beastie saying it," it said, parroting exactly what Deryn had once said to Alek. "_Mr. _Sharp," it added thoughtfully.

Max shrugged. "And I still don't care." He gave the bundle of newspapers in his arms a hard look, and then said, "Would you like a periodical? I've picked up more than enough for my crew."

"Aye, if you wouldn't mind" she said, gladly accepting the thick sheaf of paper. On the front were several tightly spaced columns of print, and the title read, "Shetland Pony Breeders Worry about Wolf Attacks". Deryn held up the paper and pointed to it. "Now, this here is some quality reading."

He shrugged. "Anything to pass the time. Good day, Mr. Sharp." He patted Deryn on the shoulder before turning away to finish overseeing the income of goods.

Deryn eyed the crates of food with undisguised glee. She hadn't had a real meal in several days, and the thought of one set her mouth watering and her stomach rumbling. She'd best find Alek and Newkirk so they could spend their precious hours in port exploring the city.

"I don't see why they're complaining," Lauren grumbled, swirling the teacup clasped in her hand, "It is their barking fault, after all."

Alek's spine went rigid and his cheeks colored. Regardless of the fact that he was well and truly a Darwinist, Deryn supposed, he still had an underlying loyalty to the country of his upbringing.

Deryn had just finished reading a section of the paper on the peace talks between the Clanker and Darwinist powers aloud, both of whom were quite eager to end the war, but neither wanted to admit it. There were war debts all across Europe, and someone had to pay them.

It seemed fair that it should be the Clankers.

"They don't have the money!" Alek growled, barely containing his anger at the middy. "No one has."

Bovril shifted uncertainly on Deryn's shoulder, muttering nonsense very quietly.

"Except America," Melissa chirped. "Really, you should see all that's going on back there. Our dad's the—he's high up in the government, is all, and he knows we're better off than the rest of the world. Last I heard, he's trying to send aid over here."

"That's not my point," argued Lauren. "What I'm trying to say is that Germany and all their lot should have to pay for starting the war. It will teach them not to do it again."

Melissa raked her fingers through her cropped, dark blond hair. "_Or_, they'll hate us and get revenge in the future. Please, Levi, promise me you _won't_ be going into politics."

"They need to know that they can't just—"

"And your solution is for them to instead freeze without roofs over their heads in the winter because instead of fixing their own destroyed cities, they've been paying for ours?" Alek's fingers were pressed hard to the rim of the window.

Lauren was about to agree that, yes, that seemed appropriate when Alek spun around to face her. "They're people, too! Just like you and me! They have lives! There are children out there who had nothing to do with this war who are _suffering_, and for what? Because their higher-ups were the daft ones? Tell me how that is fair, I beg of you." His voice had gone deathly quiet, so that Deryn had to strain her ears to make out his words. "Please." He steadied his gaze right into her eyes, daring her to contradict him one more time.

Lauren couldn't meet his glare. She mumbled, "I hadn't thought of it like that," and abruptly stood, leaving the mess in a hurry.

"Of course you hadn't," Deryn said. "That's the problem, isn't it? No one seems to think about it." Her hand snaked into Alek's, and his shook in her grasp. He squeezed tightly and nodded his head in thanks.

Newkirk and Melissa made a point not to look at their interlocking fingers. Maybe their minds still hadn't wrapped around the thought that Dylan—Deryn—Sharp and Alek Hohenberg were together. Deryn felt a delighted twist in her stomach at the word.

"I'd better go," Melissa said, sighing. "Levi and I should be taking our shore leave soon," she shrugged, though nothing of her stiff back and pressed lips made the gesture nonchalant. "I'm sorry about him. He can be—"

"There's no need to apologize for him, Miles," Alek said.

She nodded to him slowly. "Aye."

"Speaking of shore leave," Newkirk began, stretching back in his chair and showing Deryn and Alek a wide grin once Melissa had disappeared, "Are you two going to be off on your own, or is a poor, lonely sap like me invited along?" he asked, and stuck out his lower lip in what was supposed to make him look pathetic.

To an extent, it worked. But then Bovril leapt from Deryn's shoulder and right onto Newkirk's, and he yelped, tearing the beastie away and holding it at arm's length with poorly concealed alarm. It stretched out its wee hands at him, making the Monkey Luddite grimace. "Are we taking this along?" he asked uncertainly.

"Of course you're coming with us" said Deryn, taking the loris back, and Newkirk's eyes lit up. "And Bovril won't be coming; it's too conspicuous. Right, your princeliness?"

"Yes," Alek agreed, supplying a small grin. "Say we meet at the ramp in half an hour?"

Bovril climbed up into the ceiling of the mess and peered down at them with interest.

"Sounds great," Newkirk said, and swiped his jacket from the chair. He bounded to his cabin with a "See you then!" shouted down the corridor.

Deryn raised her eyebrows and tilted her head to the side, shaking with contained laughter. "Barking daft lad," she muttered, and flipped open the newspaper she'd been clenching in one hand.

Alek let go so she could read it without sitting at the table, and Deryn felt the urge to tell him not to. But it was too risky. The opening to the hallway was in a popular part of the ship, especially with so many crewmen taking shore leave.

She settled instead for feeling the imprint his fingers had left on her palm and began reading an article about what the town's boffin was up to—pigment changes in fur and skin on beasties.

"How about those purple llamas, Mr. Sharp?" Alek asked playfully from where he'd been reading around her shoulder.

Deryn chuckled. "I think it's for their horses, _Dummkopf,_" she said.

"I see," Alek mused, "Although a purple llama would be most entertaining, don't you think?"

"Most entertaining." She took a fleeting glance at the dockyard below, seeing the men scrambling about like dolls. "We should go if we're going to meet Newkirk."

Alek pursed his lip, as though considering the fact. "I suppose so."

He snapped for Bovril, who scrambled down from the ceiling and landed lightly on his shoulder.

"Most entertaining," Bovril chuckled.

**A/N: That really is pretty much what brought about WWII. The Allies made Germany take all the blame and pay the war debts, so they were in terrible shape and looking for something—or someone—to do to get behind and show the world they weren't worthless and horrible. They were more susceptible to people like Hitler, who gave them something to blame and a goal to be better not just than they are now, but anything in the world. You see?**

**Moral of the story; look at both sides when making a decision. And that sounded corny, but it's true.**


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N: Sorry it's been so long since I updated, but I've been away taking classes at a college for a week. It was super fun. Anyway, this was an amusing chapter to write. The first part was originally going to be a drabble, but it fit too perfectly with the chapter. And I DID do my research to see if it actually tasted good (It does…)**

Luckily for them, the townsfolk were used to drunken sailors acting crazy, so barely any of them were staring. The problem was, though, that Singe wasn't drunk.

"This stuff is _amazing!_" he shouted, shaking his spoon at Deryn. "I can't believe you don't like it, Dylan!"

She merely raised an eyebrow at him, and Alek tried not to laugh. Both the way Singe shoveled down the yogurt and how Deryn carefully avoided looking at him doing so were terribly amusing.

"That's disgusting," she moaned, swatting half-heartedly in the midshipman's direction. "Would you barking cut that out?"

Her hand fell to the table with a clatter, a bare centimeter from Alek's, stirring up the steam coming off of their mugs. It was deathly cold, being this far north, let alone the fact that it was still winter. The three of them were bundled in a second layer of clothes and still shivering, their breath fogging the moment it left their mouths.

And yet, this was one of the best days of Alek's life.

They'd wandered through town already, and stopped at a quaint little foreign foods café on the square when it had begun to drizzle. It had lasted a mere minute, but Alek was glad for the respite from Singe's crazy fascination with window shopping and Deryn's utter lack of attention to it. She'd been busy watching all the men, eagerly taking in their mannerisms and copying them almost flawlessly.

Alek had been busy watching her.

"Mmm…" Singe waggled his eyebrows at Deryn, enjoying taunting her. She bit her lip and swiped the bowl of yogurt from his hand, dumping it in his coffee.

"Is it so delicious now?" She challenged him. Singe's eyes bugged out, and he stared pitifully at the dissolving mound in his cup.

"Now why'd you go and do that?" he pouted.

"For fun," Deryn said, one eyebrow arched. "Go on. See if you like it now."

Alek bit his tongue laughing, and he stopped paying attention to the midshipman just long enough for him to take a big gulp of the contaminated drink.

Now a few passersby were beginning to take interest, but at least they did it discreetly. They watched over top of their newspapers or ate their food absently, waiting to witness what would happen next. Maybe some expected a fight to break out.

Disappointed in having not seen the boy's initial reaction, Alek kept his eyes riveted on the pair. Singe pursed his lips, contemplating, and then broke out into a huge grin. "Blisters, that's sodding brilliant," he gasped, and then took what was left of his yogurt and slopped it into Alek's coffee, slogging down the rest of his own. "Go on, try it!"

Alek watched the slowly melting, light purple lump in the middle of his mug with distaste, sure that there would be blueberries waiting for him at the bottom. He picked up his spoon and stalled by swirling it around until his coffee had become a creamy brown. Avoiding Deryn's acid gaze, he brought the cup to his lip and sipped.

Black coffee was not something Alek usually liked, but he didn't want to spare even the extra farthing on cream. So when the strong bitterness filled his mouth, he wasn't surprised. But the light taste of blueberry juice took the worst of the tart flavor away, and that was what lingered on his tongue, like the candies his mother used to give him for behaving the few times he'd been in public when his parents were still alive.

It felt like the eyes of the entire square were on him, collectively holding their breath for his verdict.

Careful to keep his tone neutral and his face blank, he said, "It's not bad." It was cowardly of him, he knew, but he couldn't humiliate Deryn in front of so many people, and he couldn't outright lie. So he chose a safe middle ground. "Why don't you try it, Dylan?"

She glared at him, hard, and shuddered. "You couldn't pay me five pounds to do that," she growled.

"Oh, come now, I think we could come to an agreement," Alek coaxed her, holding out the glass. "It's really just the same as putting cream in, and a few blueberries."

The girl must have seen the message in his eyes, because she grudgingly took the coffee and gulped down a small bit. She leaped straight into the air, shouting, "Blisters, that's sodding brilliant!"

It took Alek a moment to realize just how sarcastic she was being, giving her just enough time to lean behind a bush and fake gag.

"Barking terrible, really," she said once the laughter from their audience had died down.

He could see how only the count and Bovril had seen through her disguise. They were so distracted by her boyish charm that the thought would ever occur to them, and no one would want to believe that someone so purely _entertaining_ could possibly be anyone other than who he said he was.

Alek sighed.

"Well, then," he concluded, fishing through his pocket and pulling out a few small coins. "We'd better be off."

"Aye," Singe agreed, and Deryn nodded. They both slapped a coin or two on the table, standing up at nearly the same time. Singe burrowed more deeply in his pocket to find enough for a tub of yogurt to bring back to the_ Leviathan._

In moments, they were strolling through town again, the gravel of the street grinding under their boots. Alek noticed the difference between his and the other two's. He still wore the boots of his Hapsburg Guard uniform, now repaired several times with the soles almost worn through, and suddenly an idea popped into his mind. Putting his hand back into his pocket, he counted out how much money he had left.

"Dylan, do you mind if we take one more stop before returning?" Alek asked experimentally.

She shrugged.

"We've got until sundown," Singe reminded them. Much to the disappointment of the crew, the captain had announced their curfew as such, which meant the ever-popular nights of drinking and dancing were just out of reach of the weary sky sailors.

"Of course," Alek agreed. "I'm in need of new attire, if I remember correctly." He shot Deryn a glare, making sure she remembered the Society's New Year's party when he'd lost an arm wrestling competition and ended up wearing a dress, and the only reason Deryn had given as to her motives was that she'd wanted to see him in something other than his usual uniform.

"It's about barking time," was all she said.

"I saw a nice little shop on the way here, about a block down," Singe said, pointing to their left. "The prices looked good on their jackets and trousers. The boots were a little pricy, though."

Alek sighed, following the midshipman. Singe's ability to remember things was like Deryn's to track down food—uncanny, amusing, and the slightest bit unsettling.

They stopped in front of a door tucked in between a sweet shop and a hotel, so small that it seemed like an afterthought. Letters painted above the window read, "_Paul's Fine Apparel"._ The small, faded awning was barely as wide as Alek was tall and spanned half the length of the storefront, a thick layer of snow nestled firmly on the top.

Alek would never have looked twice at a place like this in his old life—that's how he thought of it now—, let alone shopped in it.

A bell above the door dinged as he pushed it open, and a heavy-set old man lumbered out from the back. "Hello, and welcome to _Paul's_. How may I help you?" he said a bit tiredly, but the look on his face said he was happy to have customers.

"I'd like to find a new set of clothes, please," Alek said. "If you could just adjust some ready made things, it would be much appreciated. I haven't enough money for ready made things," he admitted.

The man looked him up and down, and nodded. "That'll be simple enough. A bit scrawny, aren't ya?"

Alek blinked, looking down at himself. Indeed, he had lost a few pounds since he'd lived in a castle, but he hadn't thought it to be so apparent. He just looked more like Deryn or Singe now instead of a prince, and that didn't bother him in the slightest.

"Can I do anything for the two of you?" he asked, turning to the others. Deryn shook her head, and Singe shrugged, stepping back. "Well, then, it'll be about fifteen minutes. I'll have this lad back to you soon."

He shooed Deryn and Singe off, pulling out some light brown trousers and a tunic of dark blue. "If we just take this in a little, it should do ya fine." He instructed Alek to don the shirt, and the moment Alek had his off, the coldness hit his chest with a fury. Shivering, he pulled the other on quickly. It was soft against his skin.

Alek stood awkwardly under the seamster's scrutiny. The man saw his discomfort, pursed his lips, and began to make conversation.

"So what's a lad like you doin' up here? You ain't a midshipman, I can tell that."

He frowned, pondering on whether to tell the man his position. "I work for the Zoological Society of London, Sir, and am here on a diplomatic mission."

"Hmm," the man—Paul, Alek guessed—said. "I know why you're here."

Alek jerked, narrowly avoiding a needle prick. "Pardon me?"

"Everyone's heard the rumors, Lad. Hold still." He pulled a needle through the under arm of the shirt, and instantly that side seemed to fit better. Alek gulped uncertainly.

"About the Sultan," the man told him, "A boy like you's certainly heard about what happened to him in their revolution?"

"He was kidnapped by the Kizlar Agha," Alek offered, and Paul nodded.

"And taken to somewhere mysterious for his own safety. No one's supposed to know where he is, but 'round here, we think he's in the hills on the British Mainland, hiding out, plotting his own comeback with the Clankers."

"I see," Alek said, realizing this was the wild gossip of bored villagers, "And you think we're here to put a stop to him."

"Sharp as a tack you are," Paul mumbled, rolling his eyes. There was a pause as he had Alek pull on the trousers next. Then he asked, "So, are ye'?"

Alek sighed, his nerves now settled, and decided to let the man have something to tell his mates at the bar tonight. "Well, I can neither confirm nor deny that," he said elusively, which made it blatantly obvious what the man would assume the true answer to be.

"Ah, yes." He pulled the needle through swiftly a few more times and bit the end of the thread, tying it. Nodding appreciatively at his work, he held out his hand for payment, and Alek dropped the coins into his hand.

He waved goodbye as he left, clothes in hand, and met up with Singe and Deryn at the end of the street.

As they passed back through the square on their way back to the ship, Alek smiled, seeing that the café's advertizing blackboard had a new item chalked on:

Yogurt in coffee.


	29. Chapter 29

_**A/N: So, yeah. It's been a really, really long time since I updated. Sorry about that. I didn't forget about you! I promise! I've just been busy, and I really didn't have much inspiration… until now. Oh, yes, I have had inspiration. So much inspiration that it lasted seven whole pages in a Word document! I guess the length is my apology to you all for having seemed to ignore you. Sorry!**_

_**P.S.: I think this is a totally epic chapter, by the way. You should read it now.**_

The sun was setting as they arrived back at the ship, stretching out shadows and turning everything orange.

Singe nodded at the airman on duty as they walked up the cargo bay ramp, briefly feeling sorry for the man who'd been denied even the squick of shore leave the others had been given. But then he remembered that he'd certainly have some next time the ship was stopped anywhere.

He waved a quick goodbye to Alek and Deryn as they headed in opposite directions—the others to their cabin and Singe to the kitchens to beg for a space in cold storage for his yogurt.

The kitchens weren't anything fancy, just a modest space tucked at the bottom of the gondola crammed with giant, gleaming pots and fabricated cupboards lining the walls over countertops spanning the length of the place. He'd never quite understood the stoves—open flames were strictly prohibited on any airship—and didn't necessarily care to. Most likely some boffin had gotten happy with life threads, and the less Singe had to think about one of the beasts heating up his meals the better. So he steered clear of the closed off room they were in and instead made straight for the cooks' quarters.

He knocked politely on the hollow wooden door, and in less than a moment it opened to reveal one of the three cooks, a short, wiry man without a hair on his head to speak of. Singe could see his reflection in the shine of his head very well as the man barely came to the tip of his nose in height, and tried not to stare.

Singe cleared his throat and saluted smartly, not really knowing if what he was asking would be precedent or not.

The silence stretched out while Singe waited for the man to speak. He blinked a few times, then said, without preamble, "Well, what do you want, boy?"

"Middy Newkirk, Sir, requesting permission for cold storage, Sir!" He waited for a reply, trying not to look desperate. It wouldn't do for his yogurt to ruin before he could enjoy it.

"What for?" the man asked tiredly.

He bit his lip and tried to think of a proper way to state his reasoning. "To store spoils I got m'self on shore, Sir," he said, and grimaced as the worst of his small town accent showed through in his nervousness. He never had dealt with stress well.

When the cook said nothing, Singe continued, "It would only be for a day or two, Sir, and you wouldn't have to bother with it none—" he cleared his throat "—I'd just come and get it when I get the breakfast for the prisoners in the morning. No trouble for you at all, Sir." He gulped.

The man nodded and hobbled on his short legs to a large bin at the back. He beckoned for Singe to hand over the lukewarm tub of yogurt, and then quickly stowed it among the other supplies

"Thank you." Singe saluted once more, and stated he'd be back within the hour for the prisoners' evening meal. The cook didn't seem particularly enthused with that idea.

He strolled down the hall toward his cabin, and almost made it there before he remembered; the flechette bats needed to be fed now that the storage rooms were filled again. Sighing, he took the route that would send him by Melissa's and Lauren's room so he could rouse them to help. It was their duty, after all.

After a few bouts of loud knocking on their door with no reply, he tried the knob.

It was open.

The door fell away from his hand easily, swinging inward. He stepped inside, expecting to see any standard middy's room—a trunk of belongings and carefully made cot for each, possibly with a few things on the side table. But it was empty. There wasn't a single thing in the room but the beds, stripped to the frame.

_Strange, _Singe thought, checking to make sure he had the right room. He refused to let himself get worked up about it—probably something simple. Bugs, maybe.

He sighed, and crawled out onto the ratlines. It seemed as though he'd be feeding the bats on his own tonight. Shuddering, he made a personal note to make the other middies run extra drills and give them the flechette bats for at least a week.

The ropes creaked in his grasp, and the brisk northern wind tore at his uniform in the fading light, sending a shiver up his spine. The sooner this was over with, the better.

Snagging a few feed bags from a team of riggers, he dropped down into the bat coves and started tossing the dried fruit about. From the shadows stepped a familiar shape.

"What are you doing here, Mr. Fitzroy?" Singe asked abruptly, not pausing in his duty. "This isn't your job anymore," he added, remembering the shock of seeing the boy's name on the plaque in the message lizard room.

The former midshipman tilted his head, fixing Singe with eyes as cold as ice but as golden as sunlight. "Wondering at the fact that when I served on this ship, we would have had these bats fed ages ago. And how now only one boy could be bothered to take care of the beasts. Quite pathetic, really." He took a few steps toward Singe, easily avoiding the guano that littered the floor. His gaze wandered around the cove, travelling among the swarms of bats and landing back on Singe. "Very pathetic."

Though on the inside, Singe was assessing how far he was from the drop off outside if he had to make an escape and what chance he'd have in a fight, he was careful to show only a cool amusement. A few more dried figs flew across the cove before he spoke. "I would ask you for help, but you never were quite good enough at this, so I would be afraid you'd sod it up and get us both kicked off this time."

A spark of anger flared in Fitzroy's eyes, but it was dampened almost before it showed. He continued as though Singe hadn't said anything, "The state of these bats is completely unacceptable."

Singe tried not to roll his eyes. "Last I checked," he said, tossing the last fig toward one of the smaller bats, "it's not your job to worry about how 'acceptable' our bats are. You're not the captain."

Fitzroy reached over his head and took hold of a ratline just outside the cove. "Unfortunately not," he growled, icy voice barely audible over the screeches of the bats, "As my request was refused by the Admirality." He swung away, leaving Singe to wonder if he'd heard right.

He emptied a second bag to the bats hastily and hurried down to the kitchens for his and the prisoners' food. There were brown paper bags waiting for him now instead of trays, and they numbered four. Frowning, he asked one of the cooks if that was right. The man nodded, sweat sliding down his large nose from the heat of the ovens.

"Each of them gets one," he said, wiping at his forehead. "The captain said you'd be eating with the rest of the crew tonight, not in the brig with the scum."

Singe was about to tell him the Rachel was not scum, but stopped himself. Instead, he shook his head. "Then who are the other two for?"

The cook's lip curled. "Scum," he said, and spat into a trash bin by his feet. "Of the traitorous kind."

Singe didn't say anything, just stood leaning on the doorframe, confused.

"You mean you ain't heard? Figured you'd be the first to know, I did. Your midshipmen, the two brothers, got tossed in the brig. Turns out that after the Admirality looked into them a bit, they _don't exist._"

He choked on his own breath. "Wh-what?"

"Barking spies, they is. Clankers." His voice was low, a wry grin tugging at the corners of his thin mouth, "The captain's still trying to decide what punishment's good enough for rotten ones like them. Good thing we caught them when we did, otherwise we coulda been the next ship going down in flames."

He hardly heard the last part because he was racing as fast as his legs would take him to the brig.

"Let me in to see them." It wasn't a request. It was a command. The man on duty seemed slightly frightened by the darkness in Singe's voice, so he quickly shoved the key in the lock of the third cell that, until now, had been unoccupied.

The windowless room looked the same as the others, except that an extra cot had been shoved against the opposite wall. One of the girls was sitting on each, knees pulled up to their chests in defeat.

Melissa's head jerked up to see who'd come in, face lighting on Singe. "Newkirk!" she cried in a whisper. "Thank God it's you."

"What's happened?"

"They think we're spies," Lauren offered miserably. "And I'm not sure if that's better or worse than finding out the truth."

"I already knew that much. But why?" He kept his voice soft, in case the guard outside was listening.

The door had already sealed behind them, and only the wormlamp gave off a soft glow as he placed himself on the edge of Melissa's cot, leaning on his knees.

"Everyone's been jumpy about all the ships going down, you know? So the Admirality's been trying to find a link between all of them, and they'd all had new midshipmen." She shook her head. "Terribly inconvenient coincidence. So they ran background checks on all of us who've been serving for less than a few months—I'm not sure on the details—like somehow we'd been leading the Clanker ships to the airbeasts so they could be destroyed or something.

"And they found out that there have never been a Miles and Levi Wilson who lived in London, born in 1897 and '95, at least. Then they saw the forgeries in our recommendation letters, and it was just too convenient that they let Levi live in the mountains, so they just assumed." Melissa wasn't even trying to keep her voice like a boy's. It was strange to hear her voice come out high and without the faked British accent—almost like he'd never even heard her speak before now.

"This may sound like a strange question," Singe said, not sure why he was even thinking about it, "but which of you is older?"

Lauren's eyebrows drew together in surprise, and Melissa jerked her head toward her sister. "Levi is, by almost two years."

"Hmm. I never would have guessed," he mused, earning a half-hearted glare from Lauren.

"But it's so much worse than all that," Lauren moaned softly, massaging her temples. "If they found out who we are—" She cut off, taking a quick glance at her sister. "It would be bad."

Singe pretended not to notice the exchange. "I'd noticed," he said drily. Suddenly remembering the bags clenched tightly in his fist, he handed one to each of them. "I brought you dinner. I'm not even sure what's in there, but it's hot."

The paper crinkled as it was folded over and they took out covered bowls of potato stew canteens of water. Melissa stared sullenly at the food. "It was nice to see you, Mr. Newkirk, but you should be going or the guard will be suspicious."

"Right," he agreed, nodding to the girls and stepping out while they began to eat their food in silence.

Not wanting to deal with Tad, he simply slid the bag inside the door and called out a sarcastic, "You're welcome!"

His heart began to pick up tempo as it always did when he was about to see Rachel. The guard took his time with the lock, and Singe tapped his fingers against his trousers impatiently.

Not soon enough, he was in her cell and handing over the last sack of food. "Your meal, my lady," he said, bowing slightly from his sitting position on her bed.

She chuckled and accepted the bag gladly. "Because we have stopped for new supplies, I get hot food now?" Her eyes rolled back in pleasure as she inhaled the warm fumes of the stew.

Singe nodded as his stomach growled.

"Thank you, Eugene," she said, digging a spoon into the bowl. He watched in silence as she devoured the food with undisguised glee, not really caring about manners as she sat, cross-legged, licking her lips like any boy would. "Your captain will ask me questions in the morning," she said between mouthfuls.

"You mean, interrogate you?"

"Yes, that is the word the man used."

He frowned. "So… will you tell them what they want to know?"

"I—" now it was her turn to frown. "I do not know."

And that was how he ended up outside the interrogation room the next morning, ear pressed to the door he was supposed to be guarding after letting the man on duty believe Singe was the next shift.

"State your name," the captain ordered.

"Rachel Astrid Steiner." Her voice came through the door clearly, proudly.

"Origin?"

"Excuse me?"

There was a sigh. "Where do you come from?"

"Ah, yes. I come from Rendsburg, Germany."

They went on like that for nearly twenty minutes, establishing the most basic of information, and Singe was only mildly interested until he started asking her different sorts of questions.

"You were in the Kjolen mountains until five days ago. Why?"

"I was working."

"On what?"

"Machines." He had to admit, she was skilled at avoiding questions.

"What kinds of machines?"

A slight pause. "Automatons," she said finally.

"Were they of any involvement with the recent devastations of British airships?"

"Unfortunately, Captain, I cannot tell you that."

Singe could almost see the frustration on the captain's face. "Why is that?"

"Oh, come now, you certainly understand why. I have other loyalties, as you say." Her tone was calm, even reasonable, and he couldn't help thinking of how her English had improved in the last few days.

"Then we will come back to that in a bit. Please explain your relationship with Midshipman Eugene Newkirk."

Singe sucked in a breath; he wasn't aware they'd been that obvious. This didn't bode well for either of them.

"I do not know what you are talking about," she said warily.

"I believe that escorting prisoners around the ship without orders is a serious breach of rules, is it not, Mr. Williams?" Captain Hobbes asked of the guard stationed inside the room. "Which results in serious disciplinary action. Possibly demotion, or, in serious cases, dishonorable discharge."

The blood froze in his veins, a cold sense of dread creeping through his whole body. This could be it for him. Blisters, they might even think he was a spy, too, and toss him in the brig with Melissa and Lauren.

He heard a rasping breath from the other side of the door. "He means nothing to me. He was merely a mark I could con into doing my bidding."

"Is that so?" The captain almost sounded surprised.

"Yes. He was easy to trick. Really, you shouldn't trust a mere boy with such things when they involve a girl his age, so ready to fall in love with him," she scolded, sarcasm dripping from the last of her sentence. "It was too simple. I've wondered if he'd even seen a girl in the last year with how he followed me around like an eager little _dog._"

Vaguely, he realized that her English was not only better, it was downright _fluent._ Had anything she said to him, done in his presence, been the truth?

Meanwhile, the blood had started flowing again, now hot with rage and disbelief. The girl had _lied_ to him, let him believe that she'd had feelings for him while he'd truly had them for her. It felt like she had stabbed him through the heart with his own rigging knife and twisted it around to make sure it hurt that much more.

He leaned against the wall in anguish, sliding down till he was huddled against it on the floor. His body automatically curled around the wound in his chest.

She hadn't stopped speaking, and Singe listened again because he couldn't bring himself not to. "…it's not his fault that he was so gullible. The Air Service should train their men to handle situations such as this."

"We'll see to it that he is reprimanded accordingly."

"Don't get me wrong, Captain. The boy is not a fool, just young."

"Are you not?"

"I am, but not in the same ways," Rachel muttered.

The wood of the floor seemed too interesting in Singe's despair. The way it ran in singe lines from one end of the board to the other was so wonderfully simple. He wished life could be that way.

But no, life was a tangled mess.

It twisted in on itself, crossing over until it could never be set straight. The people that came into life sent in their roots and got snarled around so that even if they cut off their ties, they'd never be truly gone. There would always be a piece of them left, whether it hurt or not. That's just the way it worked.

And now it was about to get even messier.

Before he knew what he was doing, he had shoved the door open and stormed into the room where Ronnie was sitting with her hands tied to a chair, the captain behind her.

"Now? Now will you tell him?" he demanded. She looked away, and he took hold of her chin—the way he'd wanted to so many times so he could kiss her—and made her look at him. "The least you can do is tell him what you were doing in those mountains!"

She met his eyes with a cold certainty. "_No._"

He stepped away, trying to hide how hurt he was, but against his will he fell to his knees "Why not?"

"I won't tell _him_," she said, jerking her head behind her, "but I will tell _you._"

"Why are you doing this to me?" Singe yelled, clenching his fists. "I heard what you said! I know about all your lies now! So stop. Just stop. I'm done with you."

He let all of his pain seep into those words, all the hurt he was feeling. His knees came off the floor and he turned away from her, ready to leave her behind.

"Orion Omega is a scam."

Singe froze, not trusting himself to speak.

"What?" asked the captain incredulously.

"It means nothing. It's only purpose is to distract from the real threat—Orion Alpha."

His feet rotated without his permission, so that Singe came to face Ronnie again. "Go on."

"They've placed operatives on the ships that have been targeted or taken down to get Alphas on and ready to go. They are hidden in plain sight, something so normal on an airship that no one would suspect. The Alphas look exactly like the originals, just machines. We set them on a timer so that they'll go off automatically, and then…" she trailed off, something like pity in her voice, and—fear?

Dread crept up his throat like bile. "What are they? Are they here? On this ship?"

She didn't say anything, just nodded her head ever so slightly.

He took her by the shoulders, shaking her. "_How much time do we have?_"

"None." She looked away. "You're out of time."

Suddenly, Singe was unsteady on his feet. He lurched to grab onto the chair before he fell. "We have to be able to stop them. What are they?"

When she met his eyes again, he could see the tears dripping slowly down her cheeks.

"You already know."

Footsteps pounded heavily down the hallway, and an airman stopped at the door, breathing hard. "Captain! There's something wrong with the message lizards! They're going crazy."

Suddenly, it all clicked. In the mountains, when he'd seen the little machines that looked so familiar—everything made so much sense.

He was on his feet and running before Rachel's face had time to pale.

_**A/N: What did I tell you? 7 pages of scheming Clankers, yogurt-y suspense, and spies! *EVIL LAUGH***_


	30. Chapter 30

_**A/N: This first part here may be a little… mature for some of you. A few others, though, have been requesting some Dalek moments (And I AM a fangirl myself) so this happened. I have conveniently placed a (***) where it's safe to start if you prefer to pass over said fangirl-Dalek moment. But, really, it's not THAT bad. Just some intense kissing. But whatever.**_

_**Enjoy **_

Kissing Deryn was certainly one of his favorite pastimes.

Admittedly, he hadn't always thought of kissing as something that would be enjoyable—in fact, he'd once thought of the whole idea as faintly repulsive.

This, on the other hand, was quite preferable. She moved with him, her lips pressed on his with an urgent pressure. His arm was healed well enough now that he didn't have to worry about pain as he let his hands wander around her waist, feeling the slim curve of her back as she arched to fit so perfectly against his body.

His knuckles scraped against the wall, her skin hot against his even through the fabric of her shirt. She didn't have that barrier, though, as Alek's shirt was already unbuttoned. Her fingers traced patterns over his bare stomach roughly, making him moan into her mouth, and he felt her smile.

He took hold of her arms and put them over his shoulder so he could press closer to her. Now the only thing that separated them was her shirt, and with the sudden urge to rid them of even that, he reached for the buttons.

No. He couldn't. God's wounds, but he wanted to. So Alek said the only thing he could think of to make himself stop.

(***)

"Count Volger would so disapprove of this."

Deryn stopped cold. She pushed him off of her, resentfulness painted on her face. "_Why _would you say that?" she asked bitterly, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

He studied her before answering, taking in her flushed lips and cheeks, disheveled blond hair, and bright, wide blue eyes, all the while cursing himself as a _Dummkopf._ All that came out was a grunt.

She sighed and ran a hand through her hair, straightening it out somewhat. "That's barking brilliant. Now I can't even look at you without thinking of the count," she growled, fixing her shirt and trousers.

Laughing sourly, Alek mumbled, "That was the point," under his breath.

Deryn's jaw dropped open. "_Why?_"

Alek just shrugged, lost for words. He wasn't entirely sure why himself, really.

"Oh, that's right," she said, shaking her head, "You're still a sodding proper Clanker, aren't you?" As Alek wondered if he should take offense to that, Deryn continued. "But that's not your fault, I suppose. S—"

She was cut off by the sound of the Klaxon calling the crew to battle stations.

"Blisters," Deryn swore softly, looking around the room while Alek hurriedly buttoned his shirt, "You think they'd want us at the bridge with the lady boffin?"

Now that Deryn was no longer a midshipman, she no longer had a battle station, so Alek just shrugged. "I haven't the faintest idea, Deryn. Though we could sneak topside and see what's going on…" he raised a challenging eyebrow at her, and a mischievous grin tugged at the corners of her mouth.

"I must be getting through to you," she said, already clipping a safety harness she'd snagged from a supply closet on and climbing out the window to the ratlines, "Aleksander Hohenberg wants to go topside to get a firsthand piece of the action? Never thought I'd see the day!"

She chuckled madly, which reminded him oddly of Bovril, who'd been napping on Alek's cot. It blinked at him a few times, imitating the sounds that came from all sides of the ship, and he slung it over his shoulder, figuring the beastie could come in handy soon.

He shook his head, slipping on the other harness, and swung out onto the ratlines. Indeed, she must be getting to him if he was willing to do this. God's wounds, he was even _excited. _The blood pounded into his muscles, making him feel ready for anything. It only helped that Deryn was there next to him, climbing with the ease and confidence of any airman. Together, they could do anything.

When they reached the top of the ship, a strange scene was laid out before them. Most of the airmen seemed fine, if a little confused, but their hydrogen sniffers were agitated, pawing at their ears or itching them along the membrane like there were some terrible noise that hurt them. The few message lizards that littered the spine were writhing on the ground, squawking or crying gibberish.

Nearly two hundred meters ahead of them at the head of the _Leviathan_, the turtles Alek had seen in the cargo bay—Roth Aerial Battle Turtles, if he remembered right—were waiting patiently in a line as some sort of struggle played out in front of their noses. He broke into a run toward the scuffle, Deryn on his heels.

Max and someone else were exchanging blows, and from what Alek could tell, Max had taken some nasty hits to the face, several spots purpling as he fought.

The rigger's eyes lit on the pair running toward them, grateful for some assistance, and in his momentary lapse of concentration his opponent knocked him on the forehead with the hilt of a rigging knife. His knees buckled and he fell to the ground just as Alek came within fifty meters.

The attacker kicked the unconscious man out of his way and swiftly began unfastening the ties that held one of the battle turtles to the ground. Alek put on a burst of speed, his feet sinking slightly into the membrane with each stride. Twenty meters now. "Stop!" he called, and the figure jolted away from his work and stood, facing Alek and revealing his identity.

Sebastian Fitzroy.

The boy smirked as his hand snaked into the pocket on his jacket, whipping out to reveal a glistening air pistol pointed straight at Alek.

Deryn drew to a halt just behind him, and drew in a sharp breath when she saw the gun.

"Fitzroy." The word came out of his mouth like an accusation.

"Hello, Aleksandar. Dylan." He nodded his head politely, taking a step back.

Deryn came level with Alek. "What are you doing, Fitzroy?"

He laughed, cruel and ironic. "Why, being the hero, of course." Another step.

"What do you mean?" she demanded, reaching slowly for her rigging knife. Alek stood frozen as he stared down the barrel of the gun.

He took one last step, placing a foot on the back of a turtle. It sunk just slightly under his weight, but not enough to matter. Fitzroy was going to get away and-

And what?

Alek's boots hit the membrane softly as he took several steps toward Sebastian. The boy's eyes widened and he leveled the pistol at Alek's chest. "Don't move."

"How will you 'be the hero', as you say?" Alek tried to sound like he wasn't scared silly by the firearm.

"Sorry, boys, but I can't stay and chat," he said, looking over their shoulders at something behind them. He met Alek's eyes coldly for a moment, and then let loose the last of the ropes that anchored the turtle to the airship. Without thinking, Alek leapt forward to catch hold of the ascending beast.

The pain exploded in his torso almost before he'd registered the sound of the shot.

Staggering back, Alek tripped on a ratline and tumbled backward. Deryn caught him before he hit the ground. She let him down gently once it became clear he couldn't hold himself up. His vision was already becoming hazy with the pain, and a moan escaped from him.

He could barely make out Deryn, leaning over him, and thought he felt extra pressure on his wound-but he couldn't really tell. His senses were being overloaded from the pain.

"Stupid barking Clanker!" she was yelling. "Alek! Don't you dare pass out on me!"

Despite himself, Alek smiled tiredly. "Relax," he choked out, "It isn't anything that hasn't happened before."

He laughed noiselessly at his own wit and terribly ironic luck as his vision darkened.


	31. Chapter 31

A/N: Well, it certainly has been a long time, hasn't it? Anyway, I certainly hope you enjoy this chapter, and that some sense of urgency is conveyed like I want it to be. Um... you finally get an explanation of what exactly the Orion Alphas are, which I know you've wanted for the last few chapters. So here it is!

The moment his lids dropped, Deryn smacked him across the face. Hard.

Eyes popping wide open, Alek moaned, "I quite like it better when you kiss me."

Deryn tried not to grimace at the smear of blood on his cheek now, left behind by her fingers after pressing them on his wound. It was low on the left side of his chest, and from the way it was bleeding, the bullet may have gone straight through. She wasn't sure whether that was a good or bad thing.

"Aye, well, there are people around. And that was overdue anyway. Barking spiders, Alek, stay awake!"

He'd faded out again.

"Yes, I think I will." He spoke in German now, probably not even noticing how he'd switched languages. "I don't want you slapping me again."

"Dylan?" Newkirk's voice came from behind her, and she raised a single arm in acknowledgement. "Alek?"

The pound of his footsteps approached quickly, and then he was leaning around her to get a closer look at Alek. "Fitzroy shot him, and not with an air pistol, either."

"It was, actually," Alek said, chuckling for no reason, and then he broke into a fit of coughs. "An air pistol, that is," he continued.

Deryn stared into his eyes for a moment, trying to look past the cloudiness of pain that covered the usual sharp greenness. She had to focus on something else. If she thought about the boy she loved laying there in front of her, possibly dying, then it would all go pear-shaped. For the next few minutes, he had to be just another person.

"Newkirk, give me your shirt," she demanded.

"Why?" He'd paled at the sight of blood, and was looking a squick shaky.

"So I can try to stop the bleeding, you ninny, and I can't barking well use my own. Now give it to me."

Newkirk nodded hurriedly, unzipping his flight suit and undoing the first few buttons on his shirt before pulling it over his head. He turned away as Deryn tore it in two and gently eased one half under Alek and wadded up the second, applying pressure over the entrance wound, much to the injured boy's protest.

"Is that you? That hurts, if you hadn't noticed. I'd be much obliged if didn't do that, Deryn." Deryn bit her lip. The boy got sodding proper when he was half conscious.

"Newkirk, I need you to go after Fitzroy," Deryn commanded. "He took one of the turtles." She took a quick look over her shoulder in the direction he'd gone.

He was barely one hundred yards away, and she could still see the scowl on his face. Even though it felt like an eternity, it'd only been a few sets of moments. "Now. You need to go now."

"I need to tell you something first!" he said breathlessly. "Those message lizards going crazy-they're not real! The Clankers got them on the ships, and they have a timer, and when the timer goes off they all make holes in the membrane and set the ship on fire. They're called Orion Alphas-The Claw, the Spear, none of those German ships have anything to do with it; they're just decoys! Omegas! So now-you have to get everyone off the ship before it burns."

Hysteria rose in her throat like bile. It was all Deryn could do to nod her understanding.

The great Leviathan was about to go down in flames. She would meet her end just like her da.

She fought to keep down a cry of despair as Newkirk deftly loosened another of the turtles, leaping on as it began to float away. He cranked the motivator engine as fast as it would go, crouching low on its back to lessen the air resistance. Still, he'd be hard pressed to gain on Fitzroy.

Tearing her gaze from Newkirk's retreating back, carefully avoiding looking at Alek, Deryn took in her surroundings, blinking the tears from her eyes so she could see clearly.

She stood, shaking.

Twelve feet away, a message lizard writhed in pain. She took a cautious step toward it, peering closely to see why. There was no apparent cause, and it wasn't making any holes in the membrane. Deryn blinked again, and a tear slid out. None of it made sense.

Trying to steady her breathing, Deryn wiped her palms on her pants and rubbed them together, regretting not having a flight suit. Alek must be freezing, the heat seeping out with his blood.

Don't think about it.

Her hand shot out, and she caught the lizard in her grasp. It squirmed, and she took it in her other hand to hold it still. Shouting random squicks of conversation, it scratched at her hands, leaving tiny pricks of pain she barely noticed.

Deryn grimaced and plunged a finger in it's mouth. Its tiny teeth sunk into her skin, and she jerked it out, wiping a saliva coated finger on her shirtfront. This was definitely a real beastie.

But then what was wrong with it?

She let it fall to the ground, shaking her head. A groan came from behind her, too deep to be Alek. Deryn turned to find Max rousing, staring groggily and rubbing his temple. He grimaced and stood, blinking rapidly. "Where'd that bum rag go?"

"That's not your problem anymore, Max," Deryn said. "Everyone has to get off the ship."

His eyebrows drew together. "How? We're almost a mile above nowhere," the rigger protested, looking around at the seemingly endless expanse of cold forest beneath them.

"It's not barking nowhere! Once we get over Loch Ness, there's a village somewhere in the area, but that won't matter if we're all dead," she said frankly. "Understand? Crew. Off ship. Now."

"Aye, Mr. Sharp. I'll take them down on the Roth Turtles-where have those other two gone, exactly?" Deryn jerked her head toward the floating beasts, almost three hundred yards away, and he continued, "Right. These ones'll be fine, then."

"And..." she took a deep, steadying breath. "Take Alek with you. He's been shot. "

It hurt to say it. She let her eyes travel to where he lay, pale and shivering. All of her being itched to go with him, to make sure he survived, but she knew she couldn't.

"Aye. Put him on one and it'll go down first." With one last rub of his temple, Max started shouting for all the crewmen to come to him. Deryn hardly paid attention to the few who refused on the grounds that a man should go down with his ship as he explained the situation. She was more focused on how to get Alek from the membrane to the back of a turtle five feet away as painlessly-and quickly-as possible. There wasn't much time. There couldn't be. They'd already wasted an eternity.

"Blisters, Alek, would you stop trying to be the hero? I'd rather have you hiding in a corner than with a bullet in your side!" She squatted, hooking an arm under his shoulder and knees. She felt his blood soaking into her shirt sleeve, and the puddle he left behind was larger that she'd expected. The metallic-tasting air caught in her throat.

He didn't respond except for a moan when she lifted him, and as she shuffled toward the back of a turtle, he seemed to grow paler. Alek's eyes darted under his eyelids, and he mumbled incomprehensibly for a moment.

"Wake up," she told him fiercely, letting her bitten fingernails dig the skin of his palm. His eyes drug open, and he stared at her with a cloudy gaze.

"I love you, Alek," she whispered, and the backs of her eyes burned with tears.

Deryn tried not to let her eyes linger on his face, twisted with pain. She squeezed his hand quickly, one last time, and then turned away without a backward glance and took off down the spine, shouting for the men to throw any message lizard that was scratching the membrane off the side. She scooped one up from near her feet and pried its mouth open with her finger, not pausing in her step.

A quick glance revealed the most intricate automaton Deryn had ever seen. The Sultan's elephants were awe worthy, but they barely compared to the complexities within the small creature's mouth. Gears smaller than her fingernail whirred almost soundlessly, joints and hinges mimicking the exact movements of a living beastie. Coupled with the lifelike hide, it was completely believable. The Orion could have lived among their living counterparts forever if they weren't hardwired to destroy the ship.

Deryn shuddered and hurled the machine as far away from the ship as she could. As it disappeared into a speck against the green and blue of loch and forest below, a memory of Fitzroy doing the same thing flickered into her mind.

The unanswered question that had been running circles in her mind resurfaced.

Why?

As Deryn shook her head, the Leviathan shifted beneath her. Slowly, its angle changed, until they were flying directly at the great Loch Ness, looming at least a thousand yards away.

She stopped a moment to stare at it, and suddenly her throat closed in a sob. The tears that had threatened her for the last two minutes spilled from her eyes, and she choked on them. As the scene blurred, she swiped the wetness from her eyes. There wasn't time for tears now.

And Deryn was a soldier. Soldiers didn't cry.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, she hooked her boots into the ratlines and descended, looking for more Orion. If she was going to die today-if Alek was going to die today-she was going to go down fighting.

Her resolve only hardened when they started shooting sparks into the body of the hydrogen ship.


	32. Chapter 32

_**A/N: So, guys, it really has been a long time, I'm aware. And I'm also aware that you're all probably really fed up with me for having taken so long. I apologize, really. I sincerely hope that this chapter eases some of your anger.**_

_**I've noticed lately that my Newkirk/Singe chapters seem to be longer than Deryn or Alek's, and I like to think that's because I've been able to add more layers to him than I could the other two well-defined characters. That still in no way makes him mine, a fact that I've come to terms with. *goes to cry in a corner* But back to the point, this is, in fact, a six-ish page chapter, which averages at me writing about a page a week... err. Maybe it wasn't a good idea for me to say that. Now you may all be raising your eyebrow and saying how it should be easy to write that much more quickly. Well, to you I say**_

_**ENJOY. Please pretty please with a cherry on top (unless you don't like or are allergic to cherries.) leave me a review!**_

_**I love reviews just as much as Singe loves Rachel. But is that love returned? :)**_

**(^Really long A/N. Sorry.)**

(At this point, I've been asked by a few readers to provide a short summary of what's happened most recently in the story and is pertinent to this chapter just in case y'all forgot and don't want to reread the whole last chapter, and since I'm acknowledging that I've taken ridiculously long to update, I will oblige. The rundown: Rachel told the captain and Singe that there are Orion Alphas on the ship, and they were set to destroy it at about, oh, NOW, so Singe ran to go figure out a way to stop it. Deryn and Alek were making out when the Klaxon went off, so they went topside to figure out what was going on, and in the meantime Max and Fitzroy were battling it out over some ROBTs [Roth Aerial Battle Turtles]. Alek goes to help Max, and in trying to be heroic gets himself SHOT. No big deal. In the next chapter, Deryn slaps him and sends him with Max to the ground on a ROBT half-conscious, and makes Singe go after Fitzroy, who's escaping on a turtle. She also tries to figure out how to get the Orion, which are message lizard automatons, off the ship, at which point they start shooting sparks/flames into tiny holes in the membrane. Tada!)

Now on to the good stuff.

He wasn't getting any closer.

No matter how low he crouched over the turtle's back or pleaded silently with the motivator engine or urged the turtle along, the distance between himself and Fitzroy refused to lessen.

"Come on, come on," he muttered, rubbing the turtle's neck the way Max had told him to and trying not to look down. He glanced quickly at the engine, checking yet again to make sure it was on high.

Singe dared to glance down.

The ground tripped along below him sluggishly, wind whipping through the dense pine trees. It was even stronger up here, pushing almost at his back.

The wind. His head shot up, and he crawled to the back of the turtle, where the engine sat nestled near its tail.

With a small, quick adjustment to a lever on the engine, Singe changed his direction so he was traveling with the wind, at a slightly diagonal course to Fitzroy.

Singe let himself smile as he drew level with Sebastian, who was kneeling just behind the turtle's head. The boy's eyes had gone wide, but now the corners of his mouth were pulled into a scowl. A space of twenty-five feet stretched between them laterally now.

"It's a pity I haven't shot you already," Sebastian called over the wind, reaching for the the air pistol in his waistband and evaluating it with a mournful glare, "Because at this distance this pathetic weapon wouldn't even pierce your skin, and I don't waste bullets on bruises."

"How unfortunate," Singe replied dully, while at the same time trying to steady his furiously shaking hands. In truth, he was relieved that the boy wasn't about to shoot him on the spot, but knew that getting close enough to stop him would mean putting himself in range of much more than a bruise.

He swallowed hard.

Why hadn't he thought to bring a weapon of his own? The small mounted gun in the center of the turtle's back was not loaded-he'd already checked-and by assumption, neither was Fitzroy's. He hadn't even given is a second glance.

Still by the steering lever, he pushed it slowly-very slowly, so that maybe Fitzroy wouldn't notice too quickly-away from himself. Ever so slightly, his turtle began inching toward the other.

The wind bit into his back through only his flight suit; Singe's shirt was wadded up as a bandage to stop the blood running out of Alek's body. It sent up a chill up his spine and reminded him coldly that this was not a time for caution-or stupidity.

"I'm surprised you've come after me," Sebastian said, not looking at him. "I thought you'd be back on the ship trying to save your girlfriend. Rachel, I think it was, wasn't it?"

Hearing her name felt like a kick to his chest. It knocked the breath out of him, and he nearly doubled over. He didn't say anything.

"She wasn't very nice. Every time I tried to talk to her, she pretended not to know any English. Now, on the other hand, I know that she speaks our language quite well." Singe was finally close enough to hear everything Sebastian said without the wind tearing some of it away.

The boy watched him closely, searching for any reaction.

"When did you talk to her?" Singe asked.

In the moment of silence that followed, he stole a look at the ship behind him. It was descending as a quickly as an airship could, so slow that it was like the world was in slow motion. There was smoke rising from a few points on the membrane, but he was too far away to see any fire. He could hear the men's shouts and cries, though.

As he turned back to Fitzroy, he checked his maths that it would take more than three minutes for the entire ship to light. The hydrogen within the beast's body needed oxygen to catch flame, and the Orion could only make small holes for the air to get into. Deryn still had time. It wasn't very much, but it had to be enough.

"When we were in the mountains, of course," Fitzroy said blankly. "Where did you think I was after I was relieved of duty on the Leviathan?" When Singe didn't respond, he continued. "I figure you may as well know, considering that when you come a few feet closer, I'll kill you."

Suddenly his mouth felt dry, and his hand jerked back on the lever automatically so he wouldn't go any further. Fifteen feet had to be close enough.

But close enough for what?

"You were in the Kjolen with the Clankers?" Singe stared, though he wasn't really surprised. It figured that Fitzroy should be a traitor.

"Yes, you daft fool. You really are thick, aren't you? All I ever wanted was to work on that stupid ship like a good little middy, and until your friend Dylan came aboard, I could have had that and slowly made my way up to a higher position-even captain, someday. Maybe I still will, if he decides to let the airfleet continue to exist.

"But you. You were never supposed to get out alive. Do you know how long we searched for you? You are one slippery little boy, Newkirk. And you know too much."

He raised his gun and fired within the space of a second. It made a pop, and the bullet whizzed harmlessly past his head, stirring the air by his ear no more than the wind. Fitzroy barely gave him time to react before he shot again, and this time it tore through the fabric of his shirt-sleeve, stinging his skin. He didn't look, but he could feel the blood well up from it.

Singe hissed, getting to his feet. The wind hit him a little harder, and he balanced low the turtle's back. Fitzroy took more care in aiming now, watching Singe with predatory green eyes.

Somehow, over the roar of the wind, Singe heard the click of a bullet sliding into the chamber. In a moment of absolute clarity, he launched himself at the Fitzroy, intending to knock the boy off balance and possibly off the edge. The muscles in his legs protested at the effort he put into the jump, desperate to make it the full seven feet.

But he'd failed to account for the beast sinking back under the force of his push. From the moment he was extended in the air, he knew he wouldn't make it. The jump had been a stretch in the first place, but now it was near impossible. So instead he reached as far as he could to maybe just reach Fitzroy.

If he fell to his death, he wanted to bring this traitor with him.

A shot rang out, but it passed nowhere near Singe. Even if it had, he wouldn't have felt it. He was too shocked to care about anything other than the fact that his fingers had managed to hook onto the belt holding the harness to the turtle's back.

The beast listed dangerously to one side. The vibrations of Sebastian losing his footing shook into Singe's fingers, cold even through his gloves, and he swung his other hand up for a better grip. It scraped once against the turtle's shell before he caught hold, swinging himself around to face the way he'd come.

To Singe's disappointment, Fitzroy regained balance. As he advanced slowly up the belt, hand over hand, the double-crosser's head appeared over the side, red with barely contained rage. The upside-down barrel of his air pistol materialized beside him, so Singe used his own momentum to kick Sebastian's wrist.

The boy cried out in fury as the gun tumbled to the ground looming below them, glinting as it fell and reminding Singe of just how precariously he was poised over his own doom. Just thinking about it tore a strangled laugh from his throat.

Sixteen was too young to be contemplating your own death.

Fitzroy retreated topside, and with detached urgency, like it wasn't he hanging from a giant turtle's belly a hundred feet above the ground but someone he barely knew, he stretched an arm around the top of the turtle, looking for a hold to pull himself up, and suddenly felt a crushing pain in his gloved fingers, pinning his hand between the shell and Fitzroy's boot.

He swore extravagantly. Of all the pain he'd felt in his life, there was nothing quite like the feeling of pressure on cold extremities. It may not have been the worst, but certainly memorable.

"If you let go now, I'll spare you the pain of having your fingers cut off. I hear it's a painful experience," the traitor reasoned, twisting his boot around on Singe's hand. He could just imagine the sadistic grin on Fitzroy's face as Singe cried out.

"Okay," he said, voice strained. "Okay, I'll let go. Just-ah!" His fingers crunched, though Singe still hoped none were broken.

"Don't lie to me!"

The pain brought tears to his eyes, and they stung freezing on his face. He ignored it, searching with his own boot along the turtle's belly for some sort of foothold. Then he grit his teeth and jumped his hand toward the other side of the beast, clambering to get his sore fingers around the belt again. For an excruciating moment he'd been hanging by only a foot and the hand pinned under Fitzroy.

He bit his tongue and forced his hand to relax. Sebastian's boot dug in a little more, and he repressed the urge to clench his fingers again. "Please let me go," he called up, all the while worming his hand farther to the other side. The muscles in his leg and arm burned with the extended ache of holding himself up.

A moment of indecision on Fitzroy's part gave him the chance. The force on his hand lessened just enough that he could pull it out, feeling the bottom of Fitzroy's shoe tear at his skin as it pulled his glove off. The cold air stung his bare hand.

Using his momentum, Singe brought his leg up around the turtle's belly, and with frantic speed clambered onto the creature's back. Fitzroy whipped around to see him on hands and knees, gritted teeth surrounded by a malicious smile and rigging knife already drawn.

"Let me get this straight," Singe said, not taking his eyes off of Fitzroy as he leaned back on his haunches. "You're a Clanker now."

"No," Fitzroy snapped, fingering his own rigging knife. "Despite what you may believe, I am still loyal to Darwinist principles."

"But you are working with them, so that means..." he trailed off as a light turned on in his head, illuminating all the pieces of the puzzle as they slid into place.

When he'd first been in those mountains, and after the bombs had gone off, he'd seen crates with the seal of the old sultan of the Ottoman Empire on them. He hadn't paid much attention to them before, but something Alek had said to him the day they'd had shore leave in Unst had been tickling the back of his mind. The shopkeeper who'd made his clothes had told him that the locals believed that the sultan was hiding in the nearby mountains.

It had seemed impossible at the time, considering how far away it was from Istanbul, but no one really knew where he'd gone. The more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed.

"You've been working for the Sultan. He really is trying to get revenge on Churchill and all of Great Britain!" He pointed a single, numb finger accusingly at Fitzroy.

Fitzroy's lip twisted into something between a sneer and a grin. "Bravo. It only took you-what?-a month? And you've only managed to let your beloved bosun, a few middies, and countless airmen die in the meantime. That's quite the accomplishment."

Singe bit down a retort and instead catapulted himself at Fitzroy.

The boy braced for the impact, and Singe hit a hard wall. He jumped back instantly, parrying a swipe from Sebastian's knife. His face, already red with cold, turned even more so in anger.

Fitzroy thrust his blade at Singe's stomach, and he sidestepped and grabbed Fitzroy's arm, twisting it. The traitor yelped and punched at Singe's jaw with his free hand. He lurched back, and Fitzroy's knuckles only grazed his cheek.

A gust of wind rose up, throwing Singe off balance. He staggered back, pulling Sebastian with him and giving the boy a few crucial inches. He was nearing the edge and the oblivion below it. His foot caught on the boot Fitzroy had stuck out, dropping him to the turtle's shell hard. Fitzroy quickly pounced onto Singe, straddling his torso and effectively pinning his arms down, pushing an elbow against his throat.

He couldn't mistake the glint of triumph in Fitzroy's eyes.

Singe thrashed, but knew it was no good, and with each kick Fitzroy's elbow pressed a little harder. He could feel the empty space below his head, his hair tickling in the breeze. When his vision went starry, he stopped struggling.

"Are you going to kill me now," he choked, voice barely a whisper as he fought for breath, "or watch me die when I hit the ground?"

"I don't know yet, Newkirk," Fitzroy growled, running his tongue along his teeth, "but until I decide, I think I'll make you suffer."

The knife in his free hand came down, the blade pressing against the skin on Singe's face, right over the scar he'd gained from a flechette bat nearly two months ago, just hard enough to break the skin. He squeezed his eyes closed and strained away.

A line of blood trickled down the side of his face, and the frigid high-altitude air froze it to his skin. As he clenched his fists at his sides, Singe remembered one very important thing:

Fitzroy hadn't taken away his knife.

He forced himself to stay absolutely still even as Sebastian's blade trailed along his scar and opened his eyes wide, staring directly into his attacker's eyes.

That stalled him a moment. The pain in his face stopped, and Sebastian had just opened his mouth to speak when Singe used his limited arm leverage to drive his rigging knife into the back of Fitzroy's thigh. He didn't know how far it penetrated, but it startled Fitzroy enough that Singe could take the chance to push the lad off of himself.

He threw Fitzroy sideways, and he crashed into the motivator engine. It sputtered and went silent, now crooked in its place. His knife sailed harmlessly off the side of the turtle, falling silently. Blood was beginning to stain Fitzroy's flight suit.

The wind whistled in Singe's ears-or maybe it was the adrenaline pumping through his body and out the wounds in his skin. He licked his lips, dry as sandpaper, and held up his rigging knife once more.

The setting sun reflected red on his blade.

He swallowed roughly, breathing hard. His windpipe burned, blood continued to trickle down his cheek, and the fight had reignited the pain in his arm from it having been broken in the past.

All in all, he was tired of fighting.

There was too much death and fighting and blood and pain in the world to ever be rid of it, because it was everywhere and it always would be. But that didn't mean he had to take part in any of it.

Singe sighed heavily and stepped away from Fitzroy's crumpled body. He knew better than to let his guard down, so he kept his knife in his sleeve, readily accessible. "Get up," he called hoarsely.

Fitzroy's head turned to face him, but he didn't stand.

"Get up," he repeated.

"Why? Are you to honorable to kill a man on the ground?" His eyes were so filled with hate, it was hard to meet his gaze.

"In reality, you're on the back of a turtle." The joke felt foreign on his tongue, something that belonged anywhere but here. "But that isn't why. Get up."

He gestured at the boy lying on the ground, jaw quivering. Suddenly, his eyes welled with tears, but he didn't let them come.

"What possible reason could you have for making me stand?" he demanded, voice unsteady as the color drained from his face. He was losing blood fast.

Singe whistled shortly, calling his original Battle Turtle back to him. It had been floating lazily about seventy-five yards behind them. The cilia on its legs worked furiously to bring it towards them, and the turtle's trunk like legs swung back and forth like it were walking.

But he wasn't looking at that.

Without his bidding his eyes had fixed on the Leviathan, flames blossoming on the beast's membrane. The captain, after having listened to Ronnie tell them about the Orion Alphas, must have commanded the engine pods to bring the ship down as fast as possible, and the hydrogen vented out the back of the ship, toward the bottom, because licks of flame trailed behind but didn't seem threatening.

The beast's nose was headed straight for the loch.

It was then that the strangest thing happened. The searchlights on the gondola popped on, great beams of light that would penetrate deep into the water. They flashed in seemingly random patterns, and at first Singe wondered if it were an accident.

He could hear the alarmed shouts from crewmen, see the smoke rising from the ship, licked by flame.

The water directly below the ship began to stir, bubbles roiling more furiously beneath the surface with each passing second. From the water rose a massive spine adorning a plated back the size of the Leviathan itself. Tentacles sprung out around the beast, dripping dark water, followed by a pair of beady eyes and a gaping maw large enough to swallow a navy ship.

The Behemoth.

A hand wrapped around his ankle and tugged him to his knees, jarring his hands as he fell on the hard shell. The knife slid from his sleeve and he caught it easily, hilt upside down in his palm, and he pivoted sharply around to face the boy who just wouldn't give up. He made an upward slash at Fitzroy, catching him on the bridge of his nose just enough to leave a thin red line.

He wasted no time with another blow, driving Fitzroy farther back. The traitor scuttled away, realizing how poor his decision had been and favoring his left leg extremely. Singe sprung to his feet, wiping away cold sweat from his brow as he advanced on Sebastian.

The boy's palm slid in a splash of his own blood, and he crashed down violently. He spat a few choice curses at Singe, pain written on his face as a drop of blood spilled into his eye.

Eugene Newkirk didn't allow himself to breathe or even to think.

He pushed Fitzroy off the side of the turtle.

He killed him.

Singe couldn't bring himself to watch the boy no older than himself fall to his death, but he still heard his terrified cry as it faded into nothing, and a rustling of his impact on the pines below.

A hiss rose from behind him, and he turned shakily to see the Leviathan in a cloud of steam and the Behemoth squirting it with water. The dark, hazy smoke that had risen from the air beast turned into the bright white of evaporating water, and with the added weight the ship drifted the distance to shore and landed on the beach, sliding in far enough that only the rudders on its tail dipped into the water.

He could not see a single fire.

Singe hopped onto the other turtle and angled it toward the downed but alive air beast. The other Roth Aerial Battle Turtle would follow in its own, slow time.

His hands, one bare and bloody knuckled and the other gloved and clutching a stained rigging knife, trembled on the steering lever, and as he looked out over the forest at the deep red of the setting sun, he allowed a single tear to roll down his cheek.

Remember what I said about reviewing? It still applies. Do it. Thanks in advance.


	33. Chapter 33

A/N: So this is it. The very last chapter of Orion. In as few words as I can so you can get on to reading, I'd like to thank everyone who's read this fanfic. Really, you are the people who have gotten me this far. This is the first time I've finished a story this long, and now I don't know what to do with myself.

Well, except write another one.

By some miracle, she was still alive.

Deryn unclipped herself from the ratlines and dropped the ten feet to the ground, bending her knees to absorb the impact of hitting the frozen ground.

She kicked the ground, sending up a small shower of frost, and tilted her head back at the Leviathan. It was laying on it's side so the gondola wouldn't be crushed, and the balloon of hydrogen that kept the beast in the air was deflated and rippled in the breeze, ratlines laying slack about it. Deryn was on the back side of the ship, opposite the gondola.

It was a place she'd been before.

She bit her tongue remembering waking up to Alek's face, red with cold and confused, asking if she was alright. All too clearly she could imagine when he'd held a gun to her, how he'd almost blown the ship then and there. How over the past half year, they'd saved each other's lives more times than she could count.

And right now, she needed to know if all that had been for nothing.

She tore off around the ship, feet pounding on the frozen soil. Her breath came in gasps, steaming as it blew from her nose and mouth. She tugged on her sleeves, pulling them as low over her wrists as they would go for any protection from the cold.

Her eyes lit on a Roth Turtle descending from the sky, but it took only a moment for her to see that the man on it was much smaller than Max. She squinted, heart quickening with fear that it could be Fitzroy.

A hiss of relief rushed out from between her teeth when she made out Newkirk, smudging blood off his face with a bare hand and smearing it on his trousers. It left an angry red streak from just above his left eye down to his chin, a still-bleeding slash most prominent among it.

Torn between finding Alek and finding out what had happened to Newkirk, she hopped back and forth, and finally took off again, dashing to another turtle across the beach.

Max was standing atop its back, arms rested solidly on his hips as he stared solemnly at the deflated air beast. His face was a mixed expression of dismay and relief, a gruesome bruise swelling into a goose-egg on his forehead. She drew to a skidding halt a few feet in front of him, boots stirring the small rocks that substituted for sand on the beach.

"Where is he?" She demanded without hesitation, alarmingly conscious of how she seemed too worried about him for a friend relationship. "Alek, I mean. Is he... is he okay?"

Is he alive?

Biting his lip, Max took his time in answering. With every heartbeat, each faster than the last, Deryn felt her last shreds of hope drop like the ground had been yanked out from underneath her.

"I think they've taken him to see Dr. Busk. There are some men getting whatever they can out of his office to treat the wounded, if you'd like to help."

Deryn nodded mutely, wordless with relief, backing up a few steps before pivoting and taking off again, stomach twisted and fingers numb. Her feet took her around the beast's head, to the general location of Dr. Busk's office on the overturned gondola. A small group of crewmen had assembled and were passing things along a line to end in a pile of supplies, rolls of gauze and pain killers spread haphazardly on a hastily laid tarp. Other medicines were among them, and a few sets of tools Deryn couldn't identify aside from knives or needles.

The boffin was surveying the rescued supplies, and behind them the wounded were propped along the wall of the gondola or laid down beside it. The shape made for an excellent windbreak.

"Do you need assistance, sir?" she asked Dr. Busk, eyes darting back and forth between the boffin and the line of wounded men.

"In fact, Dylan, an assistant would be wonderful. If you would, please, carry that bag of instruments as I move between patients, and hand me things as I tell you to do so."

Deryn held back a scowl. She'd hoped he would dismiss her so she could find Alek.

"Aye, sir." She heaved up the pack and followed behind him, the dry grass crunching softly under her feet below the clinking of tools and the rustle of gauze.

In less than five minutes, they'd made it to Alek.

She hadn't recognized him before because he was curled up between two burly riggers, red hair covered with an arm. Her fingers itched to drop the bag and kiss him for being alive, but instead she bit her tongue and rummaged for several rolls of gauze and some antibiotics.

Deryn handed them to Dr. Busk soundlessly, nudging Alek with the toe of her boot.

He moaned and started to roll over, stopping abruptly with a gasp, arm partially lifted from his face. "Ow," he moaned, squinting up at Deryn. The only color on his face was in the tip of his nose and in his soft green eyes.

She offered him a half smile, fingering another roll in the bag.

"Bullet wound," she said matter-of-factly, eyes holding steady at the bloodstain on Newkirk's shirt, still pressed over the wound. "Lower left abdomen. Bullet went straight through."

"Aye," Dr. Busk said shortly. "Hold him, please. I need to flush the wound and check for organ damage. Put your arm across his chest, over the arms. The numbing agent should kick in quickly, but it's always nice to be sure." He beckoned for another man to hold his legs.

The doctor changed into a new pair of gloves, snipped away a large patch of Alek's shirt, and gently began probing the wound.

Deryn couldn't bring herself to watch.

Alek's back arched without warning, and Deryn pushed hard to hold him down. "You'll be fine, Alek," she muttered reassuringly, and then added a stern "hold still" when he kept struggling.

His eyes met hers, and with a pale face and clenched teeth, he nodded. He settled down, body taut as a string but still nonetheless. Alek let out a few short, gasping breaths and shut his eyes tightly. A bead of sweat appeared on his forehead, and Deryn brushed it away with her sleeve, stained with his blood.

It was dried on her hands, flaking off and falling in specks to rest on the pebbled beach. Now rust colored under her fingernails, she quickly hid her hands from his view, hoping he hadn't seen them.

"You can let him go now," Dr. Busk ordered. Deryn jumped back, fearing she'd shown too much affection toward him. "You've lost a lot of blood, but that wound is far from fatal, assuming it stays free of infection. I've stitched a tear in your large intestine. The thread is made partially of spider webbing, so it will dissolve eventually without having to be removed. Dylan, if you would, administer the pain medication."

"Aye, sir," Deryn said. "Open your mouth, Alek."

He nodded, and she swiftly knelt and placed a small pill under his tongue. "Don't chew on that," she ordered. "It goes away on its own."

"Thank you," he croaked. "For saving me. Again." The last word was added almost as and afterthought. Deryn's eyes burned.

Alek licked his dry lips, smiled, and his soft green eyes slowly closed.

Deryn gaped at Dr. Busk, who was nodding and turning away. "Why's he lost consciousness again?"

"I gave him a sedative injection. If he were to move around a lot, he could tear the stitches. It will wear off in roughly an hour."

Swallowing, she nodded and fell in step behind him, moving on to the next patient. She cast a furtive glance over her shoulder at Alek, whose dirty red hair was strung every which way about his slack, peaceful face. His chest rose and fell in a blissfully steady rhythm.

A smile found its way onto her lips.

Nearly an hour later, she was finally done tending the wounded. She bid a quick farewell to Dr. Busk, took two coats from the nearby supply pile and pushed her arms into one, and broke into a run for where Alek would still be laying.

On her way, she passed the gondola, where a small group of people were wandering around dazedly. Sighing, Deryn slowed to a stop.

"Dylan!" Melissa called brightly.

She gave the midshipman a quick nod, registering the other people to be Lauren, the Clanker girl-Ronnie, or something like that-, a guard she didn't recognize, and Thaddeus Welker, the only person of the collection that looked distinctly irritated to be there. He was laying on his back, feet propped dejectedly up on the side of the gondola as he chewed on his lip, twisted into a scowl.

"I say we bolt," he muttered in German.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Mr. Welker," she replied likewise. His eyebrows raised, and he shot a murderous glare up at her. He must not have known she spoke German.

Pity for him.

"You seem to be forgetting, Miss Sharp, that you do not hold all the cards in this game."

"Blisters," she swore, and shifting the other jacket to the crook of her left arm.

"Indeed," Tad said with a small, sad smile. "If you were to try and stop me, I could simply reveal your little secret-and their's-to this entire ship."

Deryn's eyes flicked to Melissa and Lauren, both of whose eyebrows were drawn together.

"Or," Deryn said, taking a step closer, "I could simply knock your lights out. Even if I am a girl, I'm sure you're aware that it's something I'm quite capable of."

Tad swallowed, and with one look at her raised fists conceded to stay exactly where he was.

"Good choice," she said venomously. "Miles, Levi, please keep him here. Don't be afraid to give him a solid hit to the face if he tries to go anywhere. Her too," she added, looking at Rachel.

"I do not intend to escape, Mr. Sharp."

Deryn raised an eyebrow and nodded. "Just keep an eye on her, you two."

"Aye," Lauren agreed.

Her feet were once again taking her to Alek. As she drew close to him, he was lying still along the ship. Deryn chewed on her lip, wondering if this was what she looked like when Alek had first seen her.

She hoped so. Even out cold and pale enough to fit into the bleak landscape, he took her breath away.

"What is his condition, Mr. Sharp?" Dr. Barlow asked, coming up behind her, and Tazza came to nuzzle the back of Deryn's hand.

"Mr. Sharp," the loris perched contentedly on her shoulder echoed.

She stroked the thylacine's head, feeling along its cold ears.

"He'll live." Deryn looked over her shoulder at the lady boffin, whose fingers were poised delicately on Tazza's lead.

"Good," she said, shaking her head. "I shall have to have a talk with that boy. He has a terrible habit of this sort of thing."

Deryn's mouth dropped slightly, but she didn't say anything.

After a moment of silence, curiosity overcame her. "Ma'am, where did the Behemoth come from?"

Dr. Barlow sighed. "An egg, like all other fabricated beasts."

Deryn glared at the boffin.

"Though I suppose that wasn't what you were asking. You're aware of the common legend of the Loch Ness monster, I assume? Mr. Churchill believes we can hardly let the Behemoth run rampant about the ocean, and just last month informed us that he would make the legend come true, and Loch Ness would be its dormancy location. A convenient occurrence for us today, I'm sure."

The lady boffin's eyes travelled along the surface of the loch, searching for a sign of the great creature that had saved them. Deryn followed her line of sight, the light from the setting sun's reflection burning the image onto the backs of her eyelids.

All was quiet but for the murmur of boots and voices that sounded far away. A bird cawed somewhere along the opposite shore, and the wind rose to answer it.

Funny how the perfect moments tend to come on the worst days.

Maybe that's what made them perfect, though. When everything has gone pear-shaped, it's the little pieces of good that seem the most important. They say that it's not all so bad as it seems, and bit by bit, it will get better.

"Am I the only one who's cold?"

Deryn didn't fight the grin that invaded her whole face, and she spun around and knelt next to Alek.

"No, Dummkopf. But I brought you a coat. Careful putting it on, though. Don't want to tear your stitches." His nose wrinkled, and she carefully lifted his torso, letting him slide one arm into the coat and then the other before laying him back down. Deftly, she buttoned it for him.

"I trust you are feeling well, Aleksandar, considering," Dr. Barlow said, not bothering to staunch the quirk of her mouth. Tazza padded slowly over to sniff Alek's hand. "A crew will be along shortly to carry the wounded to the infirmary once the ship is back in order. Until then, I believe that Mr. Sharp will provide adequate supervision. If you don't mind, I have duties to attend to."

And with a conspiratorial raising of an eyebrow, she tsped for Tazza to follow her and walked slowly away.

"A terrible habit!" Dr. Barlow's loris cackled as they left, nearly falling off her shoulder in a fit of laughter.

With no one in earshot, she could finally say the things she'd wanted to since Max had taken him away.

"Thanks for not dying," she began uncertainly, not really sure where to begin. So many things were swirling around in her head that it was hard to pick one.

"No problem," he answered, eyes bright.

His cold hand found hers, and she squeezed it briefly before placing it carefully on his chest. Deryn let both their hands rest there for a moment, imagining she could feel the constant beating of his heart through the layers of clothing.

"Too bad we aren't alone," he mused, grinning wickedly at her.

"Only if we did anything too rough, you'd tear your stitches." She pushed a strand of hair from his forehead, smiling.

"Not if it was just kissi-"

He grabbed her wrist, holding it exactly where he could get a good look at it.

"Is this mine?" he demanded shakily. His eyes were fixed raptly on the red streaks that adorned her hand.

"Aye. Some's from helping Dr. Busk, but for the most part..."

"Alright." He nodded, and Deryn could see the realization dawn on him.

Deryn swallowed and waited for him to speak.

"I almost died," Alek croaked, voice barely a whisper. "Deryn, I... I'm sorry."

She scoffed. "You're sorry?"

Alek's eyes searched hers. "Yes. You must have been..."

The backs of her eyes burned. She managed a nod. "So don't-don't do that anymore. If you do, I'll kill you myself." Deryn looked away to hide her tears.

He reached up and wiped away the tear that had tracked its way down her cheek. His thumb, somewhere between soft and rough, followed around to cup her chin, bringing her to face him. She held his gaze for a long moment, acutely aware of how her skin burned where his fingers were touching it.

"You know, there isn't anyone else around for quite a ways. It's unlikely that they could see us very well." Alek's gaze darted to both sides, landing on her with a mischievous glint.

She smiled and leaned down to kiss him.

Even looking at her hurt.

Newkirk could still smell the blood on his face, and feel it drying on his palm, but the pain of that and any of his other injuries was hardly comparable to what he felt when he saw Rachel.

In her classic pose, legs pulled up to her chest with chin resting lightly on her knees, she was observing all the went on around her with bemused attachment. The constant wind that battered the crew danced in her hair.

Singe grimaced as he wondered exactly what she would think when she saw him, battle worn and a little shaky.

"The captain will be along shortly, and I'm to make sure you're all in working order," he said, eyes sweeping over the band of prisoners. With Melissa and Levi still suspected as spies, there were four in all, as well as the guard that had been watching them. He saluted the man, who was gaping openly at Singe.

"Are you a message lizard now?" Lauren asked astutely.

"All their attics are still scrambled." He shrugged. He hadn't really minded the short walk over here. It had given him a few moments to gather his thoughts.

"Shouldn't you see a doctor about that?" inquired Melissa.

"No need. It's already stopped bleeding," he lied, shaking his head.

"Alright, then. Another question, Mr. Newkirk," Melissa said, grinning slyly. "Don't you need to tie our wrists together first? Also, do you happen to know any good prison songs? My repertoire is completely empty," she continued with a completely straight face.

Giving her a raised eyebrow, Singe replied with a hint of sarcasm, "I seem to have forgotten the twine, so I guess I'll just have to trust you. And it's all the better if you don't sing." He paused a moment, waiting for a response. When the girl just looked at him bemusedly, he sighed. "Now that that's settled, were any of you injured?"

"We're all just fine, Mr. Newkirk," Lauren said. "Metal cots bolted to the floor are very sturdy, you know. It wasn't difficult to hold on."

"Speak for yourself," Melissa disagreed, rubbing her knee. "I'll have a bruise from this, brother."

Tad snorted.

"Dry up, Welker," Rachel snapped at him. She blew a piece of hair from her eyes angrily and glared at him. Singe could tell they'd never been on friendly terms. "What are you laughing about, anyway?"

Singe's stomach constricted as the boy told her something in German, afraid that he was sharing the girls' secret as nonchalantly as coffee-shop gossip. Rachel's mouth dropped open, and she shot what he assumed were curses at him in rapid-fire shouts.

She looked ready to slap him, so Singe took her by the arm and dragged her away. "Calm down," he ordered.

After a moment of silence, he asked incredulously, "What did he say?"

"I'd rather not repeat it," she said, having abandoned all pretenses that she wasn't fluent in English as she had led him to believe, "but it was frankly insulting." Her cheeks were flushed bright red.

"Aye."

"I-" Rachel began, then stopped and bit her lip. "I don't know how to say this, but-"

"Then don't," he replied coldly.

A huddle of officers arrived, all in warm coats and thick gloves. "The prisoners, Captain," Singe announced, saluting.

"Very well, Mr. Newkirk." Hobbes nodded.

Singe licked his lips. "Permission to speak, sir?"

"Granted."

"It is my utmost belief that Miles and Levi Wilson are not traitors, sir. In fact-" he was cut short by the captain raising his hand.

"That's quite enough, Mr. Newkirk. There will be time for appeals later," he said tiredly. Singe averted his eyes, still standing at attention. Captain Hobbes addressed the captives. "As soon as possible, you will be returned to your cells. I assume that will be within the hour. Misters Wilson, the two of you will have a formal hearing once everything settles."

"Aye, sir," they said in unison, staring at the ground defeatedly.

"Captain, if I may," Thaddeus began, and swept his hand dramatically with a small bow.

"Go on," the captain allowed warily.

The boy cleared his throat. "I have information valuable to you regarding these two... fellows."

Singe's hand went immediately to his knife, and an instinctive snarl rose in his throat, but Captain Hobbes saw his movement and motioned him down. "Stay where you are, Newkirk."

A moment of tense silence followed.

"Continue."

"Not so fast, Captain. I need something in return." His eyes were leveled directly into the captain's, as unflinching as he was serious.

The girls exchanged a nervous glance, and Melissa turned to Singe with despair in her eyes.

"What are you terms? And be aware, Mr. Welker, that anything you ask will be discarded if your information proves worthless."

"Immediate parole from any sentence I'm given, assuming you'll try me in court."

The captain regarded they boy, and he stroked his beard, deliberating. "Minimum sentence, no parole. That's the best you'll get."

Tad drew in a breath and said "Deal" with the barest hint of hesitation.

"Now your information." It wasn't a question.

The Clanker boy supplied a smirk and gestured to the midshipmen a mere five feet away.

He offered simply, "They're girls."

It was three days before they would even allow him out of bed.

In that time, a lot of things happened, most of which he had to be informed about by Deryn.

On his first day of bed rest, after the ship had been righted and the animals were being fed-and and as a result the hydrogen replenished-by food brought from the various villages within a ten kilometer radius that could spare supplies. They'd received everything from goat cheese to rye bread, and to Deryn's distaste, yogurt.

She'd knocked lightly on the door and entered without waiting for his response, her head peaking around the doorframe and lighting on Alek, exactly where he should have been. His torso was wrapped in a layer of gauze so thick that even if he had wanted to move, he couldn't have.

He let himself smile and said, "Hello, Dylan. Have you brought lunch?"

"Aye, I have. And you'll be eating like a... well, I suppose like a prince," she replied, wincing.

She nudged the door the rest of the way open with the toe of her boot, and shuffled in with a tray that held a variety of easily digested foods. Dr. Busk had told him firmly that he wasn't allowed to have hard substances for at least a week.

"That hardly looks like the meals I used to eat." He paused, thinking. "It's much more appetizing."

Deryn chuckled, and then bit her lip as she selected a bowl. "Can you feed yourself, or shall I?"

"Well, I suppose I could," Alek observed with a playful grin. "Pity, though."

"Oh, sod off," Deryn retorted, though the remark was hardly an angry one. She thrust a spoon in the bowl and handed it to him, pulling up the chair from next to the wall and sitting in it.

Alek peered in at the yogurt and asked, "I don't suppose there's any coffee to go with this, is there?"

Her only response was a glare, so Alek shrugged and tucked in, realizing he was too hungry to exchange any more banter.

The yogurt was gone quickly, and as he ate, Deryn filled him in on the goings-on of the ship.

"Dr. Barlow suspects we'll be back in the air within five days," she said, "but the captain isn't giving a solid answer. And I think the lady boffin said that we might not be traveling back to London on the Leviathan. Something about business to take care of on the way home."

He paused between mouthfuls. "Really? Would we travel by train, then?"

"I assume as much, but you can never be sure with her. Maybe we'll pick up the count on the way."

Alek's eyes widened, and he agreed firmly. "Yes. He and Mr. Barlow will be done at the peace conferences now, won't they?"

Dr. Barlow's husband and Count Volger had been going between Paris and Northern England arranging peace talks and negotiations between the Clanker and Darwinist powers. Ironically enough, the count was becoming an instrumental middle ground who represented both powers, every day bringing the war closer to an end.

"Aye." Her eyes searched elsewhere in the room while he ate his yogurt.

"I spoke with Newkirk today," Deryn said, changing subjects. "He told me that Melissa and Lauren have left the service. The captain struck a deal with them that they would return to America and keep quiet about being girls in the service in exchange for him letting them off without any formal penalties or reprimands. As far as anyone will know, they just decided that the life of an airman wasn't for them. They'll be one of the service's dark secrets, I suspect. One of those rumors the riggers tell like ghost stories after they've snuck a few drinks into the middies."

Alek drew his eyebrows together. "Have you had this experience?"

"Unfortunately not. I came in a little late for that." Deryn sighed wistfully. "We'll just get lost in history, won't we, Alek?"

He could feel the sadness in her voice as thick as cotton, and placed his hand over hers gently. "Deryn, we will never be lost. It may just seem like any other day to us, but in a hundred years people will look back on this time and know our names. We are part of something, and that will never be forgotten. We've helped people, Deryn. All of those people in the Ottoman Empire? They won't forget the revolution. Their lives have been changed because of us and Lilit and Zaven and all the others. And who knows, some day they may let girls into the Service, and then we can tell the whole world your story."

She shrugged. "I guess you're right."

But he didn't believe it. "And no matter what else happens, I will never forget you, Deryn Sharp. And I want to be with you for the rest of my life."

Deryn smiled broadly. "If I was good with words like you, I'd tell you something like that."

"You could show me," he suggested.

Deryn raised an eyebrow and shook her head fervently. "Not after you've just eaten yogurt. I don't want to be near that stuff, let alone taste it."

Frowning, Alek heaped his spoon full of yogurt and aimed it at her. "Shall I resort to threats, Miss Sharp?"

With a look of defiance, Deryn swiftly took hold of his hand and tipped the spoon back over into the bowl. "Eat your food, daftie," she chided.

There were a few moments of silence, and Alek studied the girl as he scraped the remnants from the bottom of his bowl. Her hair had grown darker in the last few months, so it was now a dishwater sort of blond as opposed to the bright color it had been when he'd first met her as Dylan. It was due for a trim now, the little bits growing in around her ears and settling at odd angles when they weren't combed.

She sat leaned back in her chair, an arm slung around the top as she waited. When her eyes wandered back around to his, they watched him with the unassuming warmth that always shocked him, especially when he realized that the light they held was just for him.

He brought the spoon to his mouth and swallowed slowly. "You want any more?" Deryn asked, gesturing vaguely at the tray. "I think there's blueberry."

"No, that's fine, Liebe. I'm full."

"What was that?" She gave him an odd look.

"I said I'm full."

"No, before that bit."

"Oh." Alek took a moment to think before he realized what he'd said. "It's something my father called my mother. It's like 'dear' or 'love'. I hadn't even noticed I said it before you pointed it out."

"Mmhmm," Deryn agreed with a smile. "Then I ought to call you honey pie."

"Please don't," begged Alek, laughing.

"Fine," she conceded. He laid his head back on the mountain of pillows that supported him and wondered at the ceiling. A single message lizard tube came out of one wall and snaked its way along until it was just above the desk, the only ornament in the room. Like in most of the ship, a flowing wallpaper design covered the top half of the wall.

"Are you ready to leave it again?" he asked.

"No." She knew exactly what he'd meant, and her voice held a tender sadness. She was staring at the walls, too. "But I have to, don't I? So I'll pester Newkirk with letters all the time and make him tell me everything about the ship, and I'll learn to live on the ground. I've got the most important thing there with me, anyway."

"What's that?" he inquired dumbly, looking at her.

"You."

Newkirk drummed his fingers on his knees in anticipation, worried out of his mind wondering why the captain would have called him to the bridge.

He glanced nervously at the time clock on his wrist, waiting to be summoned into the room. They would be taking off in less than four hours, and Alek, Deryn, and Dr. Barlow were leaving before then. He needed to say goodbye.

The door opened, and an officer motioned Singe through the door. It shut behind him soundlessly, but he felt the air movement tickle the back of his neck. He stood motionless until the captain addressed him.

"At ease, Mr. Newkirk." Captain Hobbes turned away from the impressive window that made up most of the bridge's walls. "No doubt you're wondering why I've invited you here. Most midshipmen don't spend much time in this room." He rested his hands on the map table.

"Aye, sir. I'm curious."

The captain stroked his beard before speaking. "I need to have a few words with you, Mr. Newkirk."

Singe's mind ran through the extensive list of things he'd done wrong in just the last weeks, trying to figure out what the captain may have discovered.

"A proposition of sorts. I spoke with the Admirality about this over a week ago and received their permission. I'm also fully aware that most officers are well over the age of twenty and that you are a mere sixteen, but you've proven yourself more than capable of filling a position on this ship that has been recently vacated, may Mr. Rigby rest in peace."

Singe took a step back, shaking his head to unscramble the words the captain had just said. Realizing it was hopeless, he just said, "Sir?"

"Mr. Newkirk, tomorrow I will officially appoint you as the Leviathan's new bosun, but I thought it would be best to inform you of your promotion before the ceremony. Congratulations."

The room spun around him, and it was all he could do to mutter an incredulous thank you and salute when he was dismissed. When he made it to the hallway, Singe leaned heavily against the wall and took several deep breaths. He was halfway between a giddy laugh and an unmanly scream. Not sure which would come out, he kept absolutely silent and let his feet lead him wherever they wanted to go.

Still thinking, Singe landed right in front of a thick cell door.

"Let me in," he told the guard posted outside. The man shrugged, recognizing the boy with the scar on his face, and selected one of the keys, twisting it in the lock.

Singe pulled a small wormlight out of his pocket and shook it, agitating the worms so they glowed.

"Hello, Eugene." Rachel sat exactly where she always was, legs pulled up to her chest and her chin resting on them. Her hair had been brushed and pulled back with a tie, and she had on a fresh shirt and trousers.

"Hello, Rachel," Singe replied. "You look nice."

"Thank you." She watched him with narrowed eyes. "Let us not mince words, Mr. Newkirk. Why are you here?"

He met her gaze firmly. "You want honesty? I have no idea why I'm here. After everything you put me through, all the lies you let me believe, I shouldn't want to even look at you. But I can't stay away. There are too many things I still need to tell you, too many questions I still have to ask."

Rachel nodded solemnly. "Then ask them."

"Did you ever feel anything?"

There was the slightest hesitation, but when she spoke she said it with calm certainty. "No. You are an amazing boy, Eugene, but I never loved you."

"Then why did you lead me on?"

She didn't answer.

"Why?" he nearly yelled. "If anything, you owe me the truth now. Why did you do this to me? I've never felt like this before! It's eating me from the inside out, and you are the only thing I can think of! Do you know how much it hurts to know that you don't feel the same way?"

"You had information and access that I needed. Is that honest enough for you? You don't want me, Eugene Newkirk. I'm the enemy, for God's sake! It's my fault so many people died. All of this was my idea! They should hang me for what I've done, but your kind won't let me off that easy. Instead, I have to work for your Society now, using my knowledge against my own people. That's worse than any death, and they know it. I'm a traitor now."

A cold fist clenched around Singe's stomach. "What?"

"Your captain decided that a fit punishment would be fifteen years of forced service to the Zoological Society that Dr. Barlow and your friends work for," she said acidly. "I'm going with them this afternoon, probably in cuffs."

He swallowed hard. All thought left his mind except for one completely irrational thing. "Then before you go, I need one thing from you."

Her watery eyes reflected the wormlight. "What more could you take from me? I've already lost my family and my dignity."

"Kiss me. If I never see you again, and even if I know you will never love me, I need to kiss you once in my life."

In one swift motion, she was on her feet, her face inches from his.

It wasn't how he'd imagined at all. He'd thought that her kiss would be soft like her eyes and bright like her hair, but it was angry as fire and sharp as knives and better than any fantasy could have been. He leaned into her mouth and held his hand at the back of her neck, savoring every bit of her he could have, even if it was all a lie.

She turned her head away, slightly breathless. "Are you happy now?"

"No. But at least you were honest, and that's all I asked."

He stepped back from her, taking in everything about her just as he turned away with an ache that coursed through his entire body. "Goodbye, Rachel Steiner."

"Goodbye, Eugene Newkirk."

He closed the door behind him without looking back.

The three of them stood on the platform, a trio of sadness and hope filled with a future more extensive than their pasts. The sun would have been directly over them if they weren't in ship's shadow.

Deryn was the first to break the silence. "It seems we've been here before."

"Aye, and something tells me we'll be here again," Singe said.

"I have no doubt," Alek agreed, hunched a bit and leaning on his temporary cane. "So what do you think's in store for the three of us next?"

"Well, I'll settle into my new position as bosun," Newkirk said, scanning the beach. "The two of you will continue to work for the Society, and no matter what happens, we'll keep in touch. Maybe the war will end and we'll have to adjust to normal lives."

They puzzled over the thought of an average life, and Deryn stated what each of them were thinking: "Sounds right boring to me."

Alek frowned. "Agreed. I look forward to the future, but Lord knows I didn't think we'd even make it this far."

"We've gotten our share of bumps and bruises," Singe mused, reaching up to feel the scab that had formed on his cheek. It would be one of his defining features now, and he would be remembered solely as the man with the scar. No one would know that he'd broken his arm or fallen in love with the enemy, or that he'd known and befriend the only three girls brave enough to join the Air Service. They wouldn't even know he'd killed Sebastian Fitzroy. That memory was the kind of scar only he could see every night when he fell asleep. As far as anyone outside this circle knew, Fitzroy had fallen off the Roth turtle after Singe knocked the gun out of his hand.

"We'll see you soon, Mr. Newkirk. Don't you worry." Alek held out his hand, and Singe pulled him into a gentle hug. Then he nodded to Deryn and hugged her too.

Giving the couple a small wave before he returned to his station, he said, "I'm looking forward to it."

A/N: So I'm back. Hello again. At the beginning of the chapter, I mentioned writing another fic. I wasn't lying. In fact, Orion's continuation (As of this moment it will be called Medusa) is currently well into the plotting stage. If you'd like to read that when I get around to it, make sure I'm on your author alert. And if you're button happy, Author and Story favorite, too. :)

I'm sure you're all aware that at the end of each of the books Mr. Westerfeld put a little explanation as to what's fact and what's fiction. Well, I can tell you now that in Orion, not a lot of it is based on real events.

The facts are these: I created the characters Melissa and Lauren Wilson, based off of myself and a girl that likes to get on the Westerblog and join the comment strains. I also created Rachel Steiner, who, like most of my original characters, is based on a real person (She, too, used to get on the Westerblog. But I have no idea where she is now.) She would have been another midship-woman in disguise, except that the real Rachel told me she was a Clanker, which now I'm very thankful for. Max is the only completely original guy, and he actually came up with the Roth Aerial Battle Turtles (Thank you, M X, to use your username). I adapted the character Thaddeus Welker does not exist in real life by any means. I have adapted Newkirk and Fitzroy from their original characters to make them more... deep.

While some of the plotting ideas and elements are my own, I owe a large (VERY large) part of the story line to my little brother, who I lovingly call the Ninja-Magician-Plotter, for obvious reasons. He gave it most of the broad details that made the story compelling, and the little things that made it what it is were mine.

Fiction: I did not create any characters that were in the trilogy (obviously). Loch Ness exists, as does the legend about the Loch Ness Monster. My brother and I conveniently adapted that for our own purposes. And Loch Ness DOES go all the way out to the ocean. Google Earth told me so :). No Axis (read: Clanker) powers, to my knowledge, every really hid in the Kjolen mountains and plotted revenge.

You know, that's all I can think of right now. But if you want to know more, I'm happy to share everything that went in to any character and event in the book via PM. So many things are thought about in the writing process that don't even get mentioned in the actual store, and I'd be thrilled to tell you about it.

This concludes the longest authors note. Ever.

Thank you.

P.S. I expect you all to leave long, sappy reviews in accordance with the long chapter and long, sappy author's note. I will hunt you down if you do not.

You have been warned.


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